The Sweetest Downfall
by xXBeckyFoo
Summary: She saw potential in him, the kind that he liked to hide and pretend he was never capable of obtaining. He saw everything that he's never experienced in her, the kind of things she freely gave to anyone who wanted it. One night, he decided to take from her. They kissed, and the rest came crashing down around them. [Mini-story]
1. No Time For Love

**Chapter One: **No Time For Love

Her fingertips were drumming at a rhythm of _one, two, three_ on the surface of her tidy desk. She crossed her legs as she leaned against the back of her chair, her left foot tapping the same rhythm that her fingers were. A sigh escaped her, a frown creasing her forehead as she glanced at the grandfather-clock tucked in the corner of her furthest wall. She got quite a lot of teasing for having the muggle contraption in her office, but she always shushed them; after all, it had a very special meaning to her (even if they didn't know).

Two years ago, after a fatal car crash that claimed the lives of her parents, Hermione got rid of everything from their dentistry practice and home—she didn't want storage space filled with memories that would eventually give her a grudge against Life over the untimely passing of her parents. Everything went, except the clock; it had been a Christmas gift to her father from her mother, something she'd found in an antique shop that was meant to jokingly represent her father's old-fashioned personality. It was quite an eccentric thing: smooth, mahogany wood that was shaped into arches at the head and that had grooves throughout the thick body. Behind the glass, the functioning parts of the clock were yellow-gold, tarnishing quite a bit as time went on. It was a huge ugly thing to have about, but Hermione never minded—well, not until that very moment when its _ticking _was withering her patience.

With her brown eyes narrowed at the thing, Hermione's left hand reached for the wand that rested a few inches away. Once her fingers had grasped her wand, she glared at the clock, acting as if it had an actual face and they were having a staring contest that would then declare one of them the winner. And just as she was thinking of a nonverbal to throw at the thing, to destroy and silence its noise that was driving her mad, the door to her office opened.

"—We're here!"

"—Sorry we're late."

She scowled at the grandfather-clock with something that said _you-win-this-time_ before she turned to the newcomers. Once she noticed them, her scowl transformed into a deep, parental frown. "Are you kidding me? You kept me waiting an hour so that you could get food?"

"I told you she'd get upset," Harry huffed at Ron.

The redhead shrugged carelessly, back-kicking Hermione's door in order for it to shut so he and his two best friends would have some privacy. He'd been carrying a stack of folders, but that didn't impede Ron from eating. A pastry was in his mouth, chewing it ungracefully, appearing like a snake trying to swallow its dinner.

Dropping the archives upon Hermione's desk, ignoring the loud _thud _it made and the immediate tumble of her quill and inkpot onto the floor, Ron grinned sheepishly at her. "We brought you a snack, too," he managed through his mouth stuffed with food.

The brunette kept her frown as she summoned the things Ron had knocked off her desk. With frustration, she yanked the first file from the hefty stack and opened it. "How can someone who is supposedly invisible and mundane, have so many affiliations in the Wizardying _and _Muggle worlds?"

Before getting straight to work—which was Hermione's approach to everything—Harry threw a frown of his own at Ron, something that resembled a _don't-anger-her-you-moron _look."Well," he began, taking a seat from across Hermione, "it helps that he is a Metamorphmagus with a keen ability to charm his new encounters. He created connections with his victims, developing relationships with them, and from them sprouted...well, children. Those children grew up, and you sort of get the point. They are either his relatives or people who are still infatuated with him."

"Yeah, and soon enough they will all end up dead," Ron offered to the discussion going on as he settled himself on the last open chair. He grabbed the white paper bag Harry had been carrying, opening it and taking out a sandwich. "They are all just pawns in his chess game. He's temporarily keeping them alive so that he can hide out, but when the moment comes, they'll just be names on the long list of people he's murdered."

Harry scowled at Ron's statement, mostly because he happened to reach for the file with the long list of the dead their suspect had left behind. "We cannot be entirely sure on that, can we? He is a murderer, yes, but some of these people are his children. Surely he couldn't—"

"He can and will," Hermione interrupted the Auror. "I've examined his patterns, his mannerisms from the memories these people have of him, and everything points to him being a psychopath. He cannot tell the difference between family and strangers because he doesn't know mercy. He'll kill them once he's done with them."

Although it was odd for him to think that a cold-blooded murderer could care about his children, something that he's not yet been a witness of during his experience of fighting evil, Harry took Hermione's word for it. After all, the Brightest Witch of the Age was an expert: she was not just an Auror, but she had a degree in criminal psychology that gave her word even more authority.

"When are we ever going to know this wanker's name?" once again, Ron added to the discussion with his characteristic whine; this time as he looked over one of the many archives from the pile he left on Hermione's desk. "Or his appearance, for that matter? He gives a different name and looks like a completely different person with every group he encounters. For fuck sakes, the git has even been a woman!" He waved a photograph of a young, blonde girl. "Shacklebolt should really pass a law requiring all Metamorphmagi to register at the Ministry, just like all Animagi."

"There's so many flaws with that idea," Hermione replied distractedly as she scanned the profile of their suspect. "First, they are much harder to detect than someone transforming to an animal. Secondly, who's to say they won't register with another name and face? The legality of birth certificates is easily faked. Third, the Metamorphmagus gene is not—"

"Whatever, Hermione," Ron interrupted with a grunt. "I don't care. I'm just saying it would make our lives a whole lot easier at the moment. The only reason we managed to figure out there was one murderer was due those psychotic patterns you found with every one of his victims."

Harry cleared his throat as Hermione threw another one of her famous frowns at the redhead. It was usual for Hermione to be annoyed with Ron, but she was always more frustrated with their redheaded best friend when they unluckily worked cases together.

Usually, Ron's division hardly meshed with Hermione's, seeing as Ron's focus was primarily used in fieldwork, doing the actual catching of the bad guys. Hermione, though an Auror, was primarily used to detect behaviors and any other facts that were overlooked in cases (which were quite a lot, sadly). Harry preferred that Hermione hardly ever got involved with the physical part of being an Auror if he could help it, but this time she escaped his protection; hence, the team the Golden Trio made in order to solve this seemingly impossible case.

"Have you talked to Johnson, yet?" Harry was quick to distract Hermione before she hexed Ron.

Looking back at Harry, Hermione sighed as she leaned back against her chair, her shoulders drooping. "No, I have not; I'm sorry. I've been preoccupied with some of my other cases, but as soon as we're done here, I'll go and see him."

Harry nodded. "I'm hoping that after studying our suspect's children that Johnson will find facial similarities in order to construct a possible identification. It's not exactly standard, but at this point we're incredibly desperate to know his true appearance that we'll take a guess on it."

Hermione voiced her agreement and then returned her attention to reread the suspect's profile. Even though she had written it herself, there was still a possibility that she had overlooked a tiny detail.

As the three went off into a silence, Harry looking disapprovingly at the long list of victims, Ron eating another sandwich as he read an archive of one of the suspect's sons, the few minutes of independent work were disturbed by a knocking on the door. Whoever was on the other side, they didn't wait for Hermione's call to enter.

"Hello, you three." At the door, dressed to impress with a very flirty, knee-length cocktail dress, was a smiling Ginny. "All business in here as usual, I see."

Even though Ron nor Hermione seemed entirely pleased to see the redheaded woman, Harry couldn't fight off the giant smile on his face even if he tried. Though he was stressed to no end with this case, there was never a moment that seeing Ginny did not do wonders for his mood.

"I thought I was meeting you at home?" Harry rose from his chair, embracing Ginny and giving her a quick peck to her lips. "It's not even seven yet."

"You are right, it isn't seven, Harry—it's _eight _now."

Harry let out a curse. "We lost our dinner reservations, haven't we? Hell. I'm sorry, Gin."

"I figured you were going to lose track of time, as it is customary of you, so I Flooed the restaurant. As soon as I mentioned Harry Potter, the manager was quick to reserve his best table all night long for us." Ginny smirked at Harry's sour, uncomfortable expression. "Come off it, you love it there."

Harry grumbled at the unwanted attention he was still getting in his twenty-six years of age. He hadn't done anything remarkable since Voldemort, yet the world was keen in treating him like he was the Queen of England.

"You'll join us for dinner, won't you, Hermione?" At the mention of her name, the brunette glanced up to see Ginny staring at her expectantly. "Ron is going, along with what's-her-face. Not to mention Oliver Wood will be there, and you know he's had his eye on you for a long time."

Ron glared at his sister. "First of all, her name is _Tracey Davis_, not what's-her-face," Ginny rolled her eyes at this, "and you never mentioned Wood would be there."

"Does it matter?" instigated Ginny.

"Of course it does! I don't want to sit through dinner with that git!"

Hermione let out a low groan at Ron's echoing shout. She placed the file she'd been examining onto her desk, and used her hands to rub circles on her temples. She'd been having a headache all bloody day, and it was certainly getting worse with Ron and his old grudges hanging around.

Long ago, back when the end of war was fresh, she and Ronald decided to try a relationship. Everything seemed promising, seeing how close they'd grown and the blooming love they felt since before the war had commenced. It seemed right at the time, sort of destined in a way. She knew that a relationship with Ron would be tricky, considering how often they argued, but she thought her love for him could overcome that. She was wrong, of course.

Around when they were twenty-one, after four years of dating, Hermione could no longer keep her frustration silent with him, and their rowing began. Little by little, the relationship started falling apart. Before total devastation, Oliver Wood became quite a good friend of Ginny's, spending some nights with the Golden Trio and the Weasleys, and he'd shown interest in Hermione—a respectful kind of interest. Being the hot-head that he was, Ron didn't take that harmless interest well. No longer able to handle his jealousy or brooding, Hermione ended their relationship. Since then, Ron had been convinced that a tiny part of Hermione decided to break up with him because she fancied Oliver. Although Ron and her were in good terms now, still best friends despite it all, he was still touchy on the subject and it still annoyed Hermione to no end.

"I'll pass," responded Hermione, opening her eyes after trying to wish away her headache, "but thank you for the invitation, Gin. Oh, but do say hello to Oliver for me."

"You don't mind that Ron and I take off, then, do you?" questioned Harry as he glanced between the stack of work and at his best friend. "We could always reschedule."

Hermione laughed for the first time that day. Harry offered to cancel his dinner date with Ginny, but he knew that his wife would murder him if he did. Besides, it was not as if Hermione didn't know Harry longed to spend all the time he could with Ginny; they were recently wed, it's what new couples did during the honeymoon phase.

"You lot go on," Hermione said with a bit of that previous amusement, "I'll make it another time."

As Harry placed back the file he had onto the stack and Ron dusted off his clothes and face from bread crumbs, Ginny gave her brunette friend a frown. "You are always going to reschedule. And I don't mean with us, your mates, but with _love _in general. There could be great potential with you and Oliver."

Hermione let out a giant sound that expressed her deep annoyance. "Ginny, not this again!" She threw her arms on her desk and hid her face in them.

"Oh, Hermione, come on! I'm just trying to get you back into dating! You haven't gone out with a single bloke since Michael Corner, and that was a_ two years_ ago! I just don't want you to be alone anymore. Besides, I know how great Oliver would be to—"

Hermione's heart filled with praise for the Higher Power that sent a miracle her way. Ginny had stopped her rambling when there was knocking on her door. Immediately, to show whoever it was her complete gratitude, Hermione looked up to attend her visitor. Upon realizing who it was, her praises were cut short and she felt a type of tension swell in her abdomen.

"Granger," Draco Malfoy called for the brunette after giving and getting a fleeting look of greeting from the others in her office. "I need your notes for the case we are presenting tomorrow morning to the Wizengamot."

Frozen for a moment, Hermione nodded slowly at the man. "Yeah, um, sorry," she muttered, "I've just been swamped today. I should've sent them earlier, but I've..." She trailed off as she gaped at the scatter of archives on her usually tidy desk.

"Okay, we better get going," spoke Harry with a hint of guilt. "We'll see you tomorrow, 'Mione."

"Please go home tonight," Ron added, "or you'll be a nightmare in the morning."

Harry glared at the redhead. "Don't be a twat."

"What? You know it's true. Besides, I'm saying it because I care. She needs a proper night's rest."

As Ron exited Hermione's office, without sparing a look at the blonde inside, Ginny turned to address Hermione once more before Harry directed her out. "Consider what I just said, yeah? Oliver's a fantastic bloke and he fancies you, Hermione. Give it a shot; you might find love."

"I don't have time for love, Ginny," sighed Hermione, but before the redhead could add more to her repetitive conversation, she was quick to say, "but I'll contemplate it. Now, be gone. Have fun."

At the glee that reflected off Ginny's face, Hermione waited until Harry escorted his wife out of her office and closed the door behind them. As soon as she heard it shut, she used a bit of wandless magic to make sure the door was securely locked and that her friends could no longer get back in.

"Granger," Malfoy called again, watching carefully as the brunette had forgotten that he was waiting on her and she tiredly sagged against her chair, "the notes. _Now_."

With a loud groan, Hermione grabbed her wand and Accio'd the notes from underneath the disaster of files Ron and Harry had left behind. Once they appeared in the air, she watched Malfoy reach for them. His silver eyes scanned them over, and Hermione knew he was making sure they were up to his standards—even though they've always been, considering that it was Hermione Granger who wrote them. He sat on the chair Harry had been on previously, and remained silent.

With a rolling of her eyes, Hermione rose from her own seat and stretched. Her bones cracked and she felt the pressure on her shoulders slightly ease. Her right hand went to the back of her head and she pulled out the hairpin that had been keeping her hair into a neat bun. She pulled at the bun, unwinding it, then ran her fingers into her scalp to shake out her wild curls.

"You're not going home, are you, Granger?" Malfoy stopped looking over her notes as soon as he heard her get up from her chair. He watched her fluff out her curls, the vanilla scent of her shampoo radiating from her tresses and filling the distance that separated them.

She gave him a quick glance before she went to the small dresser she kept in her office. "Why do you say that?" she asked over her shoulder. She opened one of the doors of the dresser and reached for an empty hanger to place her blazer on.

"You're transforming from uptight to casual," he said from the background, still observing her. "Pop open one more button from your blouse and it could be concluded that you're going to see a bloke."

She turned to face Malfoy. Hermione pressed her back against the doors of the dresser and crossed her arms over her chest. "So what if I am?" she said to him casually, softly. "Who knows, maybe I'm meeting Oliver Wood at his place and staying up all night long."

As soon as she mentioned the taboo name, Malfoy reacted along the lines as Ron previously had. Instead of complaining from his seat as her friend had, however, Malfoy stood and was pressed against the brunette in one quick movement. His hands were gripping her shoulders, not too tightly, but enough to reflect his irritation with her tactless comment.

"He can't have you, Granger," Malfoy whispered dangerously, his mouth close to her lips as he dug those bewitching, silver eyes down at her. "Not until I'm done with you."

Usually, Hermione would've slapped him across the face for thinking that he could get away with thinking that she was some sort of possession, but she had incited him. Purposely, she asked for the reaction she got and she quite liked it.

So instead of angering herself, Hermione rose onto her toes, her lips that much closer to his, and murmured, "what are you waiting for, then?"

The rest was all mouth, teeth, tongue, and flesh tied together with passion and need.

* * *

**AN: Hello, lovely readers! I'm coming back with a new Dramione story. It's been so long since I've written anything, and it feels amazing to be back. I've had a lot of free time this past three weeks, and I was inspired. I don't know how long it'll last, so this is why this story will be a mini-story.  
**

**Anyway, I hope you guys like this! And, I hope you lot had a great Christmas! (:**


	2. Fire and Ice

**Chapter Two: **Fire and Ice**  
**

In the beginning, there was nothing but fire. The world was made up of destructive flames, the kind brought to life by war. As the world was being consumed by fire, there was light and dark; those trying to save what could be saved from their world, and then there were those who added fuel to the devastation. It was one or the other, there was never an in-between. With that, sides were clearly defined and no one ever crossed over.

She was twelve when she met Draco Malfoy and their hate for one another commenced, transpiring beyond petty and childish rivalry as they grew. She was a Mudblood, everything he hated and supported to eradicate. He was cruel to everyone during their time at Hogwarts, even to his fellow, bigoted Slytherins, but he especially enjoyed tormenting _her_. He had a knack for insulting her, hexing her when he could get away with it, and openingly teasing that her end would come one day from the hands of one of his pureblood kind.

During the first year at Hogwarts, Hermione managed to significantly ignore Malfoy at all cost. In that time, he hardly ever crossed her. (There was even a time he sat beside her at a library table and they both did their Charms homework in silence). She knew he was a malevolent boy; she of course heard and saw his bullying, but he hardly seemed to notice that she existed. That didn't last long, though; Second Year began his reign of persecution. What followed after made her feelings towards him transform from pity to hate.

Everything that Malfoy was, Hermione tied it with ignorance. He hated all muggles, mudbloods, and certain half-bloods because that's what he was taught from a young age. That didn't excuse his behavior, nonetheless, but it simply made him blind in her eyes. All his aggression towards her was not justified either, she had cried and resorted to retaliation against him, but she always thought that if he got to know her, if he just learned about those he hated, then he'd see that they were all people, too. She pitied him, that was obvious, but that changed in Sixth Year when he allowed the Death Eaters in and Dumbledore was killed. She hated him because he was a vital piece of the war that she knew was going to burn and take everything.

Her perception of Malfoy only shifted slightly in the days following the end of war. When it was just her and Harry camping out, her best friend shared a conversation with her involving Malfoy's hesitance and clear panic when he had Dumbledore corned in the Astronomy Tower. Then, when they were imprisoned in Malfoy Manor, Draco also hesitated in identifying her and her friends to his Death Eater family. During her torture session with Bellatrix, Hermione recalled a few painful seconds when Draco cried silent, terrified tears and looked remorseful for her suffering. When the final battle was going on at Hogwarts, after there seemed to be no more hope when Voldemort proclaimed Harry dead, Malfoy surprised everyone when he threw Harry his wand and played a part in Voldemort's defeat.

Trials for all those with the Dark Mark came soon after the war was over. Harry had gotten no rest as he was in and out of the Ministry, identifying and helping the Aurors track down all Death Eaters who fled after Voldemort's fall. Shortly after, Hermione was torn away from the comfort of her parents to help Harry in a case in defense of Draco Malfoy. She had not exactly given the Slytherin much thought, for her entire focus was in finding her parents after the end of war, but she agreed to help. She testified with the absolute truth, stayed until the Wizengamot gave their verdict, and once they had given him a year of probation and a lifetime of scheduled Legilimency sessions, Hermione went on to rebuild her life.

Unlike Harry or Ron, Hermione went back to Hogwarts to finish her education. She was surprised to see Malfoy's platinum-blonde head in the sea of returning students in the Welcoming Feast, but she didn't quite bother with him after that. She frequented him in class, seeing as they were one of the very few 'Eighth Years', but they never spoke a word. Quickly, the end of year came and Hermione went straight to a muggle university. She spent two years there, earning her degree in criminal psychology at record speed, and then applied for a job in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement in her beloved wizardying world.

After her first year as an Auror, Harry entered her office one afternoon to inform her that she was finally getting a partner. She was thoroughly excited about the idea, she'd constantly felt lonely without one, but she had agreed to hold off until the Department found her someone capable of keeping up with her. She was not just another Auror, her muggle degree in criminal psychology made her an asset, but that meant that her excellent mind needed a partner to match it. Her surprise came when Harry announced that someone equally skilled and intelligent, alike her, was none other than Draco Malfoy himself.

Considering who they were, fire and ice, winter and summer, the first few months of their partnership was a complete disaster. Things were broken, insults were thrown, hexes were cast, and they both quit their jobs several times. Eventually, after a very awkward and intense meeting with Kingsley Shacklebolt, both agreed to put aside their differences for the sake of their civilians. Though she vowed to honor her duty as an Auror, Hermione couldn't help but still see Malfoy as nothing else than a conniving and cruel git. She later went on to find, as he surprisingly respected their pact to be civil, that he only retaliated against her as a means to defend himself. He didn't tell her that _directly_, of course, but she noticed it in his behavior. When she stopped provoking him, he was quiet and did his work ethically, impressively, and seriously. He kept to himself mostly, or only associated with those who _wanted _to associate with him, and was polite to the others. Little by little, she eased her, ironically, bigoted perceptions of him.

Though they could never identify themselves as friends, their partnership became tolerable and quite amicable on their third year of working together. They would sit together on occasions in the cafeteria, chatting about a case mostly, or they would head off to a small cafe around the corner of the Ministry. Soon after, their conversations were not entirely work related, but they (_she_) opened up a tiny bit. She shared things with him, like her favorite book, painting, ice cream, and holiday location. Sometimes, when nights were long and the stress was insane, she rambled on and on and he'd listen to every single word without an insult or complaint.

Though she was the one who spoke a lot, she did get to know more about him through his patterns. Surprisingly, he was a gentleman: he held the door for her whenever they entered or left a building, let her borrow his cloak whenever she foolishly forgot hers during a raid, and often waited for her to Floo home first after a long night in the Ministry together. His favorite color was grey, not a shocker considering the unique hue of his eyes and his time as a Slytherin; he constantly wore the color on either his ties, socks, or button-ups. When it was cold, he became increasingly silent; he tended to look out the window and lose himself in thought. And when it rained, when there was lightning in the sky, fear and remorse plagued his essence. But on those rare, warm British days, he glowed like the sun and she dared herself to think him beautiful.

The night her mobile rang and she answered the call to learn that her parents had died, he was the one with her. They'd been locked in his office, swamped with paperwork for a case they had to present to the Wizengamot the following morning, and he heard it all. He heard the first gasp and saw her break into waves of sobs and uncontrollable shaking. Everything was drowning in pain, so she didn't really realize that he gathered her into his arms and held on tightly. She vaguely remembered his hand rubbing soothing circles on her back and his silence being eaten by her cries.

Two weeks after that awful night, after growing tired of being secluded in her flat and being smothered by her friends, she returned to work. She hated the pity in everyone's eyes, their constant questioning on how she was, or their offering of a shoulder to cry on, but she didn't get that with him. She didn't expect Malfoy to be smothering at all, so she really appreciated when he brought a new case to her office and gave her the heaviest part of it. He sat down on one of her chairs and said, _'well, get on with it, Granger. We've got a murderer to catch.'_

On the Friday night before her twentyfifth birthday, Draco pulled out a package with shiny, silver wrappings from his pocket as they were getting ready to depart her office. She had not assumed it was for her until he cleared his throat and distantly handed it to her. She released the handle of her door and, with his exact hesitance, she took it from him. Before she could question why he'd gotten her a gift, he commanded her to open it. So, curiously, she did. The silver wrappings were hiding a withered copy of _A Christmas Carol_ by Charles Dickens. She spent a good few minutes gaping at the book before she heard him say,_ 'you mentioned your father used to read it to you when you were younger. I thought you might like it.'_

It might have been the lack of sleep, the awful British weather settling in, or the fact that she was nowhere near looking forward to her birthday, that caused her to embrace him. She clutched onto the book, but still managed to throw her arms around his neck and pull Malfoy close. She rested her cheek against his chest, breathing in his minty scent and feeling his heartbeat, and closed her eyes. She could feel the stiffness of his shoulders, his arms rigid at his sides, but for the moment she did not care that they didn't have _that _type of friendship. After a second, or maybe an hour later, she began to pull away, but he reeled her back in. Malfoy captured her lips and stole a kiss from her. Everything inside her roared to life, so she dropped his gift and used her hands to pull on his clothes as they fell against the floor of her office.

She could not say that she heavily regretted sleeping with Malfoy the moment they redressed. When Monday came, she did not sneak around the Auror Department or avoid him; she was a grown woman and knew exactly what she'd done. She treated him as always, but when it was time to Floo home that night, she grabbed the front of his robes and took him home with her. He never once complained.

It had been two years and something since her..._thing_ with Malfoy started. During that time, unspoken rules were formed that neither questioned or attempted to break. They handled their work professionally, and what happened after they clocked out was solely their business. They never mentioned their arrangement to anyone else, nor were they allowed to. It was only about them until they saw fit to end it.

Despite knowing that there was a line that should not be crossed, a line the separated hooking-up and asking for more, Hermione fell for Malfoy. And she fell hard, deep, and painfully (but she enjoyed the way down, nonetheless). She couldn't give an exact point in time, but the unmistakable longing for him gave it away. She not only craved his body, but his time and attention. She missed him on the days she didn't get to see him, and even the nights after a long day together. All she wanted, all she looked forward to, was to be in his arms and wish the world away. And that's exactly what she truly hoped for: a world of her own where only her and Malfoy existed.

Naturally, she couldn't exactly tell him about her feelings. They had agreed, in a silent way, that they'd just be hooking-up whenever they desired it. The idea of genuinely liking each other, let alone exclusively dating one another, went out the window the first night they kissed. It was impossible for something serious and pure to transpire between them, and they knew that. However, in the two years that they were casually sleeping with one another, neither engaged in monogamous relationships. (And Hermione wanted to believe that was for a reason). She declined various offers, or crushed the potential with someone after the second or third date. Unconsciously, she'd known that no one could really give her what she felt in Malfoy's arms. He, on the other hand, dated here and there, but, alike her, that lasted one or two dates. Why he never formally was in a relationship, Hermione would never know. Malfoy didn't necessarily open up about his love life, so she was left guessing and wishing.

Oh, and how she wished...

"Hermione, your order is here."

Blinking away from her musings, Hermione refocused her eyes to take in her surroundings. When she noticed the brick walls, the beige-colored, cushioned booths, and wooden tables with black, metallic chairs around her, she knew she was inside the little cafe around the corner of the Ministry.

"Sorry about that," the brunette shly muttered to the old barista as she reached for her cup of coffee and slice of apple pie.

Mister Chapman smiled adoringly, yet teasingly as he peered down at her. "Sweetheart, you're always lost in thought when you come into my shop. Seeing as you are without your partner and your nose is not shoved into a case file, I won't blame you for taking a moment to evaluate your life."

"I'm not evaluating my life," Hermione informed quite coldly, "everything is fine as it it, thank you."

"Darling, I've been serving people for over seventy years," he said to her in a tone that reminded her of her father when he'd tell her a story with a moral to it, "and most are all the same. I've seen people sit down for meetings, for chats, or to contemplate things by themselves. I know the look, sweetheart. Not to mention that I've known you since you were eighteen, and something's definitely different in your eyes."

Resting her fork against the rim of her plate, Hermione sighed tiredly. She motioned for the old man to sit across from her, and once he had, giving her a kind smile in the process, she leaned in a few inches to say, "I think I'm in love."

Mister Chapman took in her statement, nodded slightly, but then quickly asked, "it's not Weasley, is it? Because, sweetheart, you can do so much better. Mind you, he's my best customer and is a great boy, but he's an idiot sometimes."

The brunette laughed. "No, not Ron. That ship sunk long ago." She took a small sip of her coffee, allowing herself the moment to collect her thoughts and organize her words before she continued. "It's complicated, actually; this feeling. I'm not allowed to have it. Not is it just odd, but unrequited—which makes it a thousand times worse, really."

"How'd you know it is unrequited?" the old man asked.

"I just know. You can say it's a woman's intuition, I suppose. I know he cares about me in his own way, but it's never going to become something more."

"Dear," Mister Chapman began slowly, "don't take offense, but you don't really have enough experience in the love department to make assumptions. You are a brilliant young woman, but you simply cannot know what others are feeling. You say this man cares about you, but you yourself are blocking any chances of that blossoming into something else."

Hermione frowned, ready to retaliate. She had taken offense on the assumption that she did not know what she was talking about (as if she'd ever speak nonsense). "I _know _people," she ground out, "especially him. I'm a comfortable pastime to him, nothing more."

"Have you given him indication that you love him?" Hermione shook her head, answering the man with silence. Mister Chapman reached for one of her hands and slightly squeezed. "Sweetheart, you are putting up walls for yourself. I'm not saying that the boy loves you in return, but I am not saying he doesn't, either. You cannot _guess _what lies in someone's heart. All you can do is be sincere, be fearless. So tell him and you might be surprised."

A weak smile tugged at the right corner of her mouth. The old barista was right to assume that Hermione was scared—how could she not be? Falling in love is always something terrifying; especially if you fall for your once enemy. Generally, shamefully, Hermione had to confess that romantic love was just a concept she did not understand. It wasn't something she could learn from a book, nor was it an experience that she'd felt in her life before. That's not to say she hadn't loved Ron during their time together, but that hardly could be classified as intense, raw, and all-consuming. She'd never felt or dreamt of feeling what Malfoy gave to her.

As frustrated tears prickled her eyes, the moment of advice between her and the old barista was interrupted when two men approached her table. Both were carrying files, both were looking thoroughly serious, and both were deep in her heart. It was Draco and Harry.

"Tell him, sweetheart," Mister Chapman muttered to Hermione as he rose from the seat across her. He smiled tenderly at her once more, and then asked her fellow Aurors if they wanted anything. When they declined, the man went off to the front of his shop and left them to their work.

Harry scooted into the open seat across Hermione. "Tell who what?" he questioned as he placed the files on the table and his hands went to pull her plate of pie towards him. "Sharing secrets with Reggie, now?"

"Mister Chapman thinks I'm still in love with Ron," Hermione lied easily, making sure that she threw off any hint of what she could have been actually speaking to her faithful barista about. She glanced away from Malfoy's penetrating silver eyes as he reluctantly joined Harry on the bench across from her.

Harry made a face. "Merlin, that'd be terrible. Good thing he's wrong. _Wait_—he is wrong, isn't he?"

Hermione laughed, assuring her best friend that there were absolutely no romantic feelings left for Ron inside her. Harry loved them both, she knew that, but he suffered quite a lot of headaches when she and Ron were an item. He was almost ecstatic when Hermione told him she had broken things off with Ron, though he never actually showed his approval of their separation directly as to not offend any of the sensitive people (_Ron_) involved.

"Sorry to interrupt your break," Draco cut in, clearly uninterested in the exchange between the two Gryffindors, "but I might have found something connecting one of our cases to the one you're working on with Potter."

Placing back down her cup of coffee, Hermione's immediate surprise and intrigue made her yank the file away from Malfoy's hands.

"Norman Romanoff was a witness in the Cora Fitzpatrick case we presented to the Wizengamot this morning. He was owled an order to present himself at the Ministry by nine, along with the other six witnesses, but we were in a hurry to actually count all of them, seeing as our key witnesses were Maria and Lauren Gallagher. After the sisters testified against that lunatic bint, providing sufficient evidence to convict Fitzpatrick, no one else was called to the stand."

"Yes, Malfoy, I was there," snapped Hermione, clearly not following what evidence he'd found that would help Harry and her out. "Get to it."

Instead of becoming upset, which would've been the logical thing for him to do considering who he was, Malfoy grinned at his partner's passionate curiosity. "While you were off escorting Fitzpatrick to Azkaban, I had to finalize the paperwork on the case. As you know, I had to meet with the witnesses and insure their safety and all that rubbish. Well, when I got to Romanoff, the bloke was no longer there. Legally, I couldn't just ignore it, so I asked if he entered the Ministry and was told he hadn't. I looked up his address and was surprised to find that it didn't exist. I searched for him in our archives, and the bloke wasn't registered at all. Norman Romanoff doesn't exist."

"That's when Malfoy found me," Harry chimed in, opening his file and showing it to Hermione. He pointed a finger at the name and watched his friend's eyes widened.

"Veronika Romanoff!_ Of course!_" exclaimed Hermione as she threw Malfoy back his file and she took Harry's instead. Veronika Romanoff was one of the many children their Metamorphmagus murderer left along the way. "How could we have missed it? There are no Romanoffs in all of Britain! This specific clan originates in Russia. Not to mention there was practically a war amongst them when the oldest patriarch disappeared and their inheritance was inconclusive."

Harry nodded eagerly. "_Ivan_ _Romanoff _has been wiped off the face of the earth for the past twenty years. It was out of our boundaries, so we never really looked into it to come up with a match. But, guess what? Romanoff was accused of thirty accounts of malicious murder in Russia—"

"Which is why he disappeared!" Hermione finished for him. She didn't even have to ask him whether or not Ivan Romanoff's murders had the same patterns as the suspect they were tracking. "Oh, Harry, how could we not assume that along the way the Metamorphmagus would reuse his past names?"

"I put in a submission in the Department of International Magical Cooperation that should be approved by now," informed Harry as he swallowed the last piece of Hermione's apple pie. "With the permission of the Russian government, we can raid the Romanoff homes and interrogate his surviving relatives. We can finally find out how this bastard truly looks like."

Hermione grabbed both files and stacked them together, her excitement playing loudly in her brown eyes. "Fantastic. Let's grab Ron and head there now."

"Actually, Ron's caught in Egypt right now. There was a messy extradition case there and I'm not sure when he'll get out of it. Temporarily, I'm assigning Malfoy to the case. He'll go with you to Russia, meanwhile I will track Romanoff here."

"But Harry—"

"Romanoff is in Britain, Hermione, not in Russia. I'll do the tracking, and you and Malfoy can do the psychological stuff in Russia that could assist us here."

Hermione frowned. "You're assigning him as my babysitter, Harry Potter. Don't think I don't know your tricks."

The bespectacled man smiled shamelessly. "If there's one thing Malfoy has proven to be good at, it's protecting you."

At Harry's comment, Draco looked momentarily sidetracked. His forehead creased with a frown, but it wasn't an aggravated one. If Hermione knew well enough, she concluded that Malfoy was uneased with the praise Harry had just given him. Though they tolerated each other, respected one another as capable Aurors, Harry and Draco persistently managed to steer clear from one another. So, in the moment that Harry complimented him on something that was dear to his heart, saying that he trusted him with the life of his beloved friend, Malfoy looked bewildered.

Tossing back the rest of her coffee, Hermione rose from her seat and her two fellow Aurors followed her lead out of the little cafe.

"Right," Hermione began as they hurriedly walked through the crowd ending their lunch hour that was now headed to or away from the Ministry. "Malfoy and I will gather whatever we need and we'll leave within the hour."

"Do you think this family is dangerous?" Malfoy asked. "Do we know if they have any relation to dark magic associations? We need to be fully prepared in case they have any illegal wards waiting to blow us up when we arrive on their property."

Harry shrugged. "Sorry, but I haven't the foggiest. The Romanoffs have never meshed with British law, so whatever their history is, it's not buried here. You two are going to have to look over the Romanoff archives in the Russian Ministry before you actually find them."

"I can put through another submission with the Department of International—_Uff!_" Before Hermione could finish her sentence, she accidently crashed into someone. She would've fallen to the ground and probably get trampled over by the stampede of people, but Malfoy's arms were there to catch and save her.

With his strong hands around her ribcage, right underneath her breasts, steadying her, Draco's silver eyes roamed her face intimately that she felt her heart sprout and flutter wings. "Careful, Granger," he whispered into her ear, making delicious shivers race up her spine.

She could've grabbed his face and kissed him senseless then and there if the chatter of the public had not invaded her ears.

A smirk on his face, one that clearly revealed that he knew of her desire, Draco released his hold on her. Hermione cleared her throat, glaring at him and his unintentional, seductive powers, and then turned to Harry as he helped the person she'd crashed into off the ground.

"I'm terribly sorry," Hermione said to the young, blonde woman. "I should've watched where I was going. I hope you are not hurt."

The woman waved it off, smiling at her as she dust off her navy robes. "Don't worry about it. Have a lovely day, Miss Granger."

Hermione nodded and returned the smile. "Merlin, I swear I'm a menace to the—" She stopped in her tracks, halting the rush she and the boys had recommenced to get to the Ministry.

The woman's face entered Hermione's mind, processing it, and picking it out of her memory. She had seen her before. That woman had been on a photograph, she remembered that. Was it off a fugitive poster? A missing person? A witness? A magazine?

"Hey!" Spinning on her heels, Hermione pulled out her wand and crouched into a fighting stance.

She remembered the face, the face of the woman she'd just bump into. She'd seen her on a photograph; it was the one Ron was waving about the night before when he was infuriated that their Metamorphmagus murderer had even been a woman in his past schemes.

Before Draco or Harry knew exactly what was going on, the blonde woman turned and had her wand out at the ready. To Hermione's displeasure, the woman was quick to send the first spell. A jet of light rushed its way to Hermione, but her time in war had sharpened her reflexes; she rebounded the hex and the jet shattered the window of a floral shop.

Hell broke loose.

People ran and screamed, dodging the surrounding jets of light that were taking up the narrow street. It was impossible to catch the woman, she was gone, but the curses were still being thrown at Hermione, Harry and Draco. The suspect was of course a bloody Metamorphmagus, so he changed throughout the chaotic mess.

As Harry dived in to protect a little boy from the shattering of a brick wall, Draco knocked down a man who pointed his wand at them. But when they'd fallen to the ground, Hermione turned right on time to deflect a curse away from Draco. The stream of light had been green, the type of green that no one as an Auror, no one who'd lived to see Voldemort's wrath, forgot. It was the Killing Curse. And an intense fear had plagued Hermione's mind and soul when she saw it headed for Malfoy.

In that small moment of distraction, in that small moment that Draco's wide, silver eyes stared back at her and she was relieved that she managed to save him from death, her defenses dropped. A light wrapped around her, burning her from within, and then the world went black.


	3. Time of Goodbyes

**Chapter Three: **Time of Goodbyes**  
**

_The world outside the window was dark: a deep, velvet, navy-blue color took up the sky and stretched across the country. The stars twinkled like little Christmas lights and the moon sat peacefully in the center of it all, throwing down its soft, hazy light for those who walked the streets at night. Everything was gentle outside, only the caring melody of the wind blowing through the trees made noise. Outside, it was all a smooth current of time._

_ From inside the window, the midnight wind parted white curtains in order for the moonlight to tickle the figures lying side by side in the room. While the living night outside was calm, the hearts beating within were loud, hectic, and coming down from heaven. _

_ 'You weren't kidding when you said you needed a bit of fun,' Draco managed to say through the tiredness of his bones and the oxygen returning to his lungs. _

_ Hermione laughed silently, her throat too raw to let the sound boom out and take over the walls of her bedroom. After all, the walls were still echoing her screams of delight and the repetitive prayer of Draco Malfoy's name that she'd given them as every cell in her body burnt up like the sun when he filled her with delicious pleasure._

'_It's your fault, really,' she murmured, bringing up the previously disregarded silver sheets to cover her naked body, 'you were the one that left for two weeks.'_

_Malfoy faced her when he turned his neck in an angle. The moonlight made his tousled and slightly damp hair paler than it actually was. 'Forgive me for attending my great uncle's funeral, Granger. Next time, I'll make sure to warn them about your necessity of me before they decide to die.' _

_She rolled her eyes and said, 'fuck you.'_

_Usually, when she told him exactly that, he'd give her a wolfish grin that could give anyone the idea that she, in fact, had shagged him too many times to count over the course of the past two years. This time, she didn't get his arrogance. Instead, his stormy gaze narrowed at her, hiding all emotion. _

'_You could find someone more practical than me, Granger. Someone who will adore you every second of their life if you so wished it. You never have to wait for me.'_

_The exquisite high that his body had given hers faded faster than it ever had. Her heart stopped pumping blood laced with passion; fear had replaced the pleasure that had previously been feathering over every centimeter of her body. She took a moment to swallow the knot in her throat that hid her secrets, that was always waiting to come out so that her lips could tell Draco that she'd fallen irrevocably in love with him. _

'_Then I'd have to deal with their emotional attachment,' she didn't know where she found the will to speak, the skill to sound like she felt nothing, 'and I'm not currently open for serious dating. I haven't the time, remember? Murderers to catch and all.' _

'_You forget that you are Hermione Granger.'_

'_What of it?'_

_He pulled himself onto a sitting position, pressing his bare back against the cold, black headboard of her bed. 'Love always finds you. You can't escape it, can you? You might not have time for a relationship, but that doesn't mean it ever stops knocking on your door. How many blokes are currently trying to win your heart?'_

'_Oliver Wood doesn't count as 'many blokes',' she responded stoically. 'So, don't you worry about me or my love life. I'm fine. I'll settle down when I settle down. Besides, if you want to stop our...arrangement, you could just say so. You don't have to remind me how petty I've become in romance.'_

_She kicked off her bedsheets and swung her legs over the edge of the mattress, quickly getting off the bed like it was suddenly a block of ice. She bent and picked up the first item of clothing she found and tossed it on. _

_As she roughly slipped her arms through the sleeves and messily buttoned up the item she grabbed, Draco watched her with the same expressionless mask he so commonly used when interacting with the world. _

_Hermione marched to her bedroom door and crossed it, her feet navigating her to the kitchen area of her flat. _

_She wanted to cry as panic seeped into her skin and started terrorizing her previously peaceful cells. Her heart was doing that thing she loathed, spreading fear throughout her bones and blood. Her mind started racing with the same dred. It was the constant fear that plagued her whenever her thoughts conjured up Malfoy's face on the sleepless nights that she lay alone in her bed, missing his caressing hands and powerful hips. _

_She didn't want to lose him. She never wanted to give up his oddly comforting presence, their witty conversations, their chats about history and art, their similar taste in music, the discussions that stimulated her mind, the arguments that sprouted when their opposing views clashed, or the joy his heavenly lips gave. She could never say goodbye to any of that, not by will, anyway. But that's exactly why her body drenched in fear—because she knew that their ending would come from _his _part. _

_So, she waited. She waited, feeling every excruciating second, when he would tell her that it was done. And it was slowly driving her mad._

_Her shaking right hand opened the faucet of her kitchen sink and her hands cupped together to gather the freezing water. Breathing heavily, she submerged her face into her palms. Coldness came and shocked her senses; alerting that brilliant mind of hers that it was time for it to get its act together. She needed to regain her stability and handle the situation as she'd been handling it for two years. She needed to be detached, just like him._

'_We're both pathetic, then.'_

_Hermione had been patting her face dry with a spare hand towel she had lying on her kitchen countertop when she heard his voice behind her. She gulped, surprised that he stayed when she clearly assumed he would've taken off as it was accustomed after their sex-high wore off. _

_She turned, collecting herself so she could meet his silver eyes. She found him in all his glory, the moonlight coming in from her kitchen window faintly highlighted every line of his perfect body._

'_I didn't say I was done with you,' he bluntly informed her. 'What I meant to say is that you don't have to wait for me. You're a free woman; you can go off with whoever you wish. You can find anyone else to entertain you when I cannot.'_

_She frowned. 'I'm not a slag, Malfoy.'_

_He rolled his eyes, but didn't comment on that. 'Come here,' is what he said through a low, deep tone. He then extended a hand to her, eyeing her even more profusely than he usually did. _

_Her mind was still infested with the anxiety of losing him, even a bit of anger on his assumption that she would sleep with other men, but her feet moved forward and her fingers perfectly settled between the spaces of his hand. She'd always go to him, especially if he asked._

_He squeezed her fingers and then led her back to her bedroom. Before crawling back onto the mattress, he used his free fingers to undo the wrongly-done buttons of his shirt that she'd thrown on. He watched it fall to the carpet, joining the rest of their combined clothing, and, this time, used his free hand to cup the left side of her face. He gazed at her with guarded eyes, making it entirely impossible for her to decipher his current thought process, but when his mouth passionately captured hers, she allowed her blind hope to believe that maybe he didn't want to lose her either._

_That night was the first time she woke in his arms as the sunlight drowned her room with its warm, bright rays. _

**X**

Ron Weasley was hovering; and when Ron Weasley tended to hover, Hermione's aggravation was quick to follow.

Her brown eyes narrowed dangerously as she watched him tapping his foot desperately against the tiled floor of the white, hospital fingers of his left hand were close to his mouth, allowing his teeth to bite the rims of his nails; a nasty habit Hermione and Mrs. Weasley constantly scolded him about. His right hand was clutching her ankle, appearing as if he was holding her down to any onlooker, but he was actually holding her out of worry and shaky anticipation. As if that weren't enough, the redhead was muttering useless, breathy things that she couldn't understand; other than the occasional curse word, that is.

She blinked away from him, scouting the room to learn about her surroundings. Before she decided to reach for the closest thing to her to whack him over the head with, the door of her hospital room opened and her heart was about to take off when she expected to see a tall, blonde man. Disappointment came, however, when it was a familiar Healer that smiled at her.

"For fuck sakes, Angelina," Ron hissed at his sister-in-law, "I've been waiting for ages! What's wrong with her? Is she going to be okay? Is she dead?"

"She's _conscious_, Ron," pointed out Healer Weasley to the frantic redhead man.

Ron turned to the body on the hospital bed. To his immense surprise, the poor thing, his blue eyes found Hermione's warm gaze. "Merlin, 'Mione! You're awake!"

"I've been awake for ten minutes now, Ron." Though she wanted to chew him out on the unshakable obliviousness that was forever a part of him, Hermione resisted. She was his best friend, Ron loved her greatly; she knew that he'd been worried to no end for her. That worry just blinded him from his surroundings, and that was somewhat endearing to Hermione. She appreciated that the first thing he did was race to St. Mungos to check on her.

Unlike Ron, though, Angelina was one of the very large group that could tell when the brunette's patience was wearing thin, so she cleared her throat to call for Ron's attention. "Why don't you head down to the cafeteria and grab yourself something to eat, Ron? I imagine that you might be starving, you've been held up in the Egyptian Ministry since the crack of dawn, and I doubt you've eaten anything."

"I cannot eat right now," the redhead snapped incredulously at the Healer, "my best friend was attacked by a mental murderer!"

Hermione laughed at his comment silently. Ron might have been deep in worry to notice that she'd woken up, but Hermione had been very aware of her friend's presence, seeing as everything that he was doing was annoying her in their silence. One of those things had been the rumbling of his stomach.

"You go ahead, Ronald," the brunette assured gently, a large smile on her face when he turned to give her a questioning gaze. "Seriously, I feel fine. Do as Angelina says."

Ron decided to protest, even as his stomach let out another grumble that might have gone deaf to his ears but not to hers or Angelina's. With her authority, his sister-in-law ordered him out and he hesitantly went out the door. Not without demanding that someone go find him in the cafeteria after Hermione was discharged; signing himself up with the job of taking her home.

Angelina grabbed her wand from inside her colorful robes and cast a locking and silencing charm on the door, just in case Ron decided to be importune. With that out of the way, Angelina used one of her hands to help Hermione into a sitting position, seeing as the latter was struggling to pull herself up on her own.

"Everything feels quite tender," she said nonchalantly to her Healer, using a tone as if she was stating the color of her hospital gown.

"Yes, well, you were hit with a Stinging Hex," Angelina told the patient as she opened her file and quickly scanned the results on it. Her lips were pressed into a line, a contemplative look in her dark eyes, but that momentarily went unnoticed by the brunette.

"A Stinging Hex is not powerful enough to cause me to faint, Angelina; no matter the person who cast it. What else happened to me?"

There was hardly a surprise that the Brightest Witch of the Age knew exactly what she was hit with, Angelina mused quietly in her mind. "Of course it can't. Your unconsciousness was caused when the hex flew you backwards and your head banged against the cement floor. You had a small concussion as a result, but other than that, there is no actual harm done to you."

The headache throbbing around her skull proved Angelina's statement, so Hermione didn't press that further. As she'd told Ron, she did feel fine, just sore in her bones, but that would eventually fade by tomorrow night. The concussion, however, Hermione knew she'd have to be extra careful of for a few days. She didn't have to be a certified Healer to know that she was going to be ordered a full night of bed-rest.

"Where is Harry and Malfoy?" she asked instead. "Are they hurt?"

Angelina shook her head. "Both brought you in, but you know them, Hermione, those dedicated Aurors. They went back to the street to conduct a search for the person that attacked you lot. Malfoy insisted on it, actually. Not to mention that vengeance was in Harry's eyes, so you can guess that he is putting all his fury into his job right now. I promised to send a Patronus when you were discharged."

Hermione nodded once, quite passively, too. Her mind brought to her Malfoy's face and the memory of the fear in his own eyes when he watched her get hexed. She wanted to be in front of him, assuring him that she was perfectly fine. It was something she did on the rare occasions when in their missions he couldn't protect her from enemy curses. She didn't expect him to, considering that they were always surrounded and their minds had to be sharp on all the movement of the opposing sides. He took it to heart when that happened, but she always figured that it was a duty as a partner to feel obliged in the safety of the other person. Regardless, she liked to see the caring in his eyes.

"Well, thanks for everything, Angie, but I'll be off now."

The brunette was about to hop off the hospital bed when Healer Weasley put a palm on her chest and halted her movement. "Actually, Hermione," she began with a tiny, serious whisper, "there's something else."

Hermione raised a brow. "I thought you said everything was fine?"

"You know how these procedures work, Hermione. We give full-body scans to make sure that nothing is broken and everything is working as it should. It standard when healing an Auror, you know that."

"Yes, because we are always around dark magic and that magic has side-effects. I'm aware," supplied Hermione. "What of it? Don't tell me the Stinging Hex was altered when it hit me."

Angelina shook her head. "No, there was no internal damage. What the scan detected was...Um...You're not sleeping with Ron, are you?"

To say that Hermione's eyes bulged out was an understatement; she felt like they popped out of her sockets and rolled onto the floor of the hospital room. "What—_no! _Why would you even ask that? Ron's dating Tracey Davis, you know that!"

"He's not exactly exclusive with her," Angelina defended herself. "Besides, you have not exactly been dating anyone since him, and well...Sometimes ex-couples remain sexually involved—"

"_No_!" emphasized Hermione. "Absolutely not. Where is this even coming from?"

Angelina sighed, looking torn between skeptical and wary. In the end, she had to handle the situation as the professional she was. Regardless of it being Hermione Granger in front of her, someone she thought of as family, she needed to be direct. So with that level of professionalism, Angelina said, "the scan picked up a second heartbeat, Hermione. You're two months pregnant."

**X**

She just didn't understand. Hermione could not process how she got—how does that even begin to happen to someone? She is Hermione Granger! This sort of thing did not just happen to someone like _her_; someone who was always prepared, calculated, and level-headed. For Merlin's sake, she's the _Brightest Witch of the Age_. She's too smart to let something _unexpected _like this happened. But, God, it happened.

Roughly, it was two months ago that Harry marched into Hermione's office and practically pleaded with her to assist him with the Metamorphmagus case. It wasn't rare for other Aurors to ask for her help, considering the fact that she was the only criminal psychologist in the department, but when it was her best friend asking for her assistance, Hermione couldn't just turn him away without giving him her full dedication. She knew that she had her own cases to attend to, but she thought she could handle Harry's as well. Of course, Hermione had not counted on the Metamorphmagus case to be excruciatingly time consuming or to leave her with the amount of stress that it had.

It's not to say that Hermione was blaming her current mishap on Harry, but he _was _the one who brought her into the investigation in the first place. And seeing as she was sleeping with Malfoy, quite more regularly than usual considering how stressed she was and how much she missed the blonde man due to her busy schedule with Harry and Ron as of late, Contraceptive Spells weren't always on her mind. She just wanted to get right into the good part. Of course, she could blame Malfoy as well—and she was, seeing as it takes two to tango—because it was not solely her responsibility to think about contraceptives, but she _had _directly informed Malfoy that she'd be taking care of it. She didn't quite trust men with those sort of spells, so who better to protect her than herself?

Merlin, wasn't she stupid.

"You all right there, Hermione? You look a bit clammy." Ginny Potter was sat on an armchair in Hermione's living room, silently watching television with her friend as a means to keep her company and to watch over her. Hermione insisted that she didn't need to be looked after, but Ginny had not cared what she wanted and left her Quidditch practice early to be with her. (Ron had been ordered back to the Ministry to discuss the matter of his extradition case in Egypt earlier that day).

Holding back a swirl of insults she wanted to release onto herself, Hermione glanced at the redhead woman and forced a smile. "Just sore, nothing of importance," she lied.

"Oh, I'm sorry, 'Mione," Ginny gave her a sympathetic look, "but you have to wait at least another hour before I can give you another pain-relief potion. I don't know why Angelina prescribed you such low doses, honestly. You're clearly in pain, you need the full amount. You wouldn't be suffering like this if she had."

"It's not Angelina's fault, Gin. I asked her to give it to me in low doses. I just didn't want to get all groggy if I took the regular amount." Which, of course, was another lie. Angelina didn't think giving Hermione too many potions to take was a good idea considering her state. The hex she took had not damaged Hermione's internal system, but it had upset it slightly—and that was not good for the fetus. It wasn't grave, either, but Angelina did recommend to let the body heal itself naturally.

The redhead nodded and stared sadly at her friend. "But you are okay, right? You're not lying to me?"

Hermione kept her lips in a tight line as she stared back. A part of her wanted to tell Ginny about her unexpected pregnancy, but she couldn't find the words. If there was anyone in the world to talk to about it, it would be Ginny that she told. The redhead was like her sister, a keeper of her secrets, but if she said it, if she told someone, then it would be real. She couldn't face that fact yet.

"Actually," the brunette breathed, "I'm sort of hungry. Would you mind making me something?"

Ginny's brown eyes gleamed with disappointment, something that told Hermione that Ginny was aware that she was hiding something, but nonetheless, laughter spewed from her. "Of course. I'm not quite skilled in the kitchen, but I'm sure I can—"

The low-burning, crinkling of the fireplace roared with emerald flames that caught the two women's attention. They only had to wait a single moment to find out who had arrived to Hermione's flat.

"Malfoy?" Ginny knitted her auburn brows, staring skeptically at the blonde man who had just Flooed in. "What are you doing here? How'd you even get in?"

He had not been out of the Floo for a complete second when Hermione's heart began to race with fear, want, and anxiety. As soon as she saw his white-blonde hair from the flames, everything inside of her was screaming out for him. She hated it, always had. In the beginning, she could always sense him and it bothered her to think that she would never feel comfortable around him. Later, when she fell in love with him, it bothered her to no end to know that he could cause such a commotion inside her bones and diminish her coherency.

When Draco found Ginny in the living room of Hermione's flat, his silver gaze reflected his surprise to see her, but he quickly tamed it. It was there for the briefest moment in time before it was replaced with his blank mask, and one needed to know his mannerisms as Hermione did to see more to him than what he liked to show.

"We connected our Floo Networks," with a clearing of her throat, Hermione called her friend's attention to her. "You know I hardly lounge about on the weekends, so when I need to bother my partner with my revelations on a particular case, it's handy to intrude on him. He hates it, but you know how I am."

"And now it is my turn to intrude on her." Draco raised a case file he had in his hold, waving it slightly as if to train the the redhead's focus on it. "A witness came forth for the old Travers case."

Ginny yanked the file from the wizard's hold when he extended it to Hermione. "Are you kidding me? Piss off with work, Malfoy! Hermione needs rest right now."

"Actually, it's sort of important," chimed the brunette, "we've been waiting ages for a witness to come through."

"Hermione, I'm not—"

"How about you go get take away from that Italian restaurant around the corner and we'll quickly look over this file? I promise when you return I'll tuck it away."

Ginny frowned at her friend, but she was then quick to cast it onto the blonde Auror. "Okay, you daft git, I'll give you and Hermione twenty minutes to look over this case file and that's it."

Draco gave Harry's wife a condescending smile without further speaking. He waited until Hermione had given the redhead her order and the latter gathered her wallet, put on a coat, and walked out of the front door.

"The Travers case was solved a year ago," Hermione was the one to break the silence. "Were it Ron that was here with me you'd have more explaining to do. Don't be careless, Malfoy."

The blonde rolled his eyes. "It's a blank file, Granger—were it Weasley and not his sister, this would be suffice in fooling that redhead idiot."

"Did you find any leads on the Metamorphmagus?" questioned the brunette, not daring to let silence settle between them.

Draco glared, not directly at her, but at the unpleasant situation that had occurred in general. "We traced him to the nearest apparition point, but the trail obviously ended there. He's a bloody shape-shifter, it's damn near impossible to find him when he could be absolutely anyone. However, Potter mentioned that the shop nearest to the apparition point has muggle devices that serve as security watchers, so we'll be looking into that first thing tomorrow. He said we might be able to trace every single person who used it a few minutes after your attack."

"It wasn't _my _attack," quipped Hermione, "not intentionally, at least. The Metamorphmagus was sporting navy robes, Malfoy; the kind Ministry workers wear. He'd been inside. By happenstance is how we managed to be bump into—"

"I don't bloody well care if he'd been taking a stroll through the Ministry, Granger. I care that he dared to attack you!" He marched to her in angry stomps, still managing to look like he glided to her. His pale face was becoming red, his anger bubbling the blood of his veins and making it spread. "What would've happened if Potter nor I were there? This _fuck _is a demented murderer! You could've been one of his victims, do you understand _that_?!"

He grabbed her shoulders, lifting her up from her comfortable place on her couch. Fire burned in his eyes, liquidizing the metal in them as he frowned at her. Despite the rough way he'd clutched onto her, his hands were shaking. It wasn't anger, but it was desperation. And desperation was what drove him to latch his mouth onto hers and kiss her like her breath was the essence of life.

It was so easy for her to lose herself in him. Every little thing that he did, no matter if it was a coy touch, his presence, or the force of his kiss, she melted and gave into him. He sparked so much energy, so much passion and longing inside of her that her body reacted on its own. All her senses turned off and allowed her to be piloted by him. Anything that he wanted, she'd gladly gave.

She had to look in the darkest and tiniest places inside her to draw out will. She had to beg her mind to turn on logic in order for her to pull away from him. It was difficult, so fucking difficult, especially when she felt him press his body into hers, claiming her more and more, but she did it. She shoved him back a few paces and she landed back on the couch.

"Sorry," he ground out, breathing heavily. "You must be sore from the hex."

With the few ounces of will that she managed to pry out of hidden corners inside herself, Hermione had to use all her energy to transform it into courage. She had to tame her heart, sounding away its powerful screams of protest, to freeze her heated flesh, and kill all the passion he brought out of her. She forced herself not to cry.

"I've been seeing someone else," she didn't know where that lie came from, but she latched onto it with all her might, "for a few days now, actually." She needed to do it. She needed to end it now before it was too late. And it already was too late. Not only had she gone and fallen in love with him, but she was pregnant with his child. There was no greater damage than that. She knew he could never return her feelings, but now there was no telling what he would do if she told him she was pregnant.

Since she knew she loved him, she'd spent her time worrying and dreading the day that he'd tell her a goodbye. That was the only way she'd let him go, when he told her he no longer desired her body. And that's exactly all he was in for—_sex_. She didn't know his plans for the future, she didn't know what type of woman he wanted to wed, the plans of marriage he had, or if he wanted children at all. But one day it would happen, she was very aware of that. One day he was going to fall head over heels for someone and she would not be able prevent that, to stop him from establishing his life. Not even now. She had no right to trap him with an unplanned baby.

Fate had tricked her, for it was _she _that had to let Draco go.

"I didn't think it was going to last, you know, he and I. It was just a bit of fun. But we went for drinks one night and we sort of hit it off. I quite fancy him, and I think he's what I've been waiting for. I just want to be honest and completely free now that he and I are officially dating, if you know what I mean." She willed her eyes to glance up and take him in. "You don't mind, do you?"

She knew it would be too much to ask to see Draco express any kind of emotion. He simply did not function that way. She wanted to at least see disappointment or a sort of grief in his eyes for what they were losing—in the end, they always did have fantastic sex—but that didn't show in his gaze. Nothing showed up in his eyes or on his facial features. He was smooth and cold, just as always.

"This has to be some bloke," he replied in a deep, unsettling voice, "to capture Hermione Granger's heart. It's a task many have not succeeded on."

Hermione attempted to give him an endearing smile, but she failed to do so.

Awkwardness was about to settle in on them, tension about to flood the walls of her flat, but rescue came in the form of Ginny Potter.

"The place was closed, Hermione," the redhead fleetingly informed with a frown upon her face as she entered through the front door. "You are just going to have to be brave enough to try my cooking. Malfoy, care to stay for the worst meal you've ever tried? You might get food poisoning, but the company should make up for it."

"He's actually leaving," the brunette muttered, swallowing down the fighting words that wanted to scream and tell the truth to Malfoy, to make him stay and never leave her.

He looked away from her and gave his firm gaze to Harry's wife. "I'm exhausted from a long day of tracking a murderer," he told her, "but thanks for the offer, Potter. I will never take it up another time."

Ginny glared, but a smirk was tugging her mouth. "All right, then. Piss off now, Malfoy. Have a good night."

"See you later, Granger," Draco said flatly as he turned to the Floo. He grabbed a pinch of powder and was quick to disappear without a look back.

"I'm thinking sandwiches and tomato soup," Ginny called behind her shoulder as she went to the kitchen. "I don't think I can muck that up, but let's still hope for a miracle!"

Tears formed and blurred Hermione's vision as she looked at the regular flames that ate away the logs of wood in the fireplace. Her mouth muttered a goodbye to the shadow of Malfoy's figure, but her heart was sobbing at what she'd done.


	4. Backfire

**Chapter Four: **Backfire**  
**

She thought it was a good idea when she did it, but now she realized that it was the worst thing she could have ever done. She never contemplated on exactly how deep her love for Draco Malfoy ran. She knew it was love, of course she did, but she was stupid to assume she knew the degree of that love. Romance had never been her forte, that was clear as day to herself as well as to others. Her decision to let go of Malfoy only served to prove her wrong and destroy her.

When Ginny left the following morning, Hermione had been shaking with desperation. She had kept herself together, tied with fake smiles and useless chatter to keep Ginny blind from her pain, but in that time all of that emotion had been collecting itself into a ball of energy. And in the first moment of solitude that she was given, the ball exploded and it knocked her onto her knees. Tears streamed down her cheeks, falling onto the floor beneath her and collecting into small puddles. She sobbed like she was mourning the dead, and in a way she was. She was crying for all the hope that ceased to exist once she'd let Malfoy go.

He was engraved deep into her bones. She was sure if someone cut her open, they'd see his name carved in perfect little lines on the entire skeleton of her body. If they took her heart and placed it beneath light, they'd see his name sketch into it as to assure who it belonged to. If they examined her flesh, they'd see his fingerprints all over her body, claiming ownership, as well as the marks of his lips and teeth. Everything inside and outside of her belonged to him.

Through her flood of devastation, Hermione tried to reason with herself. She tried to remind herself that she _knew _this would happen one day; the only thing that changed was the fact that _she _ended their arrangement and not him. She had to remind herself that she was never going to get a happy ending with Malfoy, it was just not destined. They hardly could be considered friends, just partners bound to one another in a vow to protect the Wizardying world; the prospect of being forevermore lovers was not up for debate. He didn't have romantic feelings, he didn't know love, and if he ever were to, he would definitely not have them for her. There was too much damage, such a thick, nasty history, that prevented something pure to bloom. He didn't love her, he never would, so what exactly was the point in hoping that one day he might?

Hermione allowed herself the weekend to grieve for what never had been hers. And once Monday came, she looked into the mirror of her bathroom and practiced the expression of someone who felt nothing, of someone who had not spent days crying over a broken heart. So when she mastered something close to a deceivingly happy mask, she headed for her Floo and went to work.

Work itself was a good way of distraction, but that didn't last long for Malfoy was her partner and their paths were bound to cross. He marched into her office without a knock, as he'd always done, and gave her a huge stack of files. He told her what he always did, _'get on with it, Granger; we've got cases to solve'_, and everything else went by in silence. Unwillingly, desperately, she would sneak glances at him, but disappointment only followed when she saw that all his focus was on their work. A part of her wanted to ask him if he missed her—or her body—but it was a ridiculous thing to even think, seeing as only three days had gone by, so she busied herself with their files.

Two weeks later and everything had become a strange routine. She'd looked into the mirror and think courageous thoughts, and then she'd Floo to the Ministry. She spent the first hour alone, grieving and trying to survive his loss, but then he would march right in, shocking her, hurting her, and they would go about their work. Sometimes they hunched over archives and testimonies and on other times they were out in the street, busting the pavement to find their suspect or to find any leads. Since her attack, the Head of the Aurors required Hermione and Draco to join Harry's case full-time, which meant a pause on their other cases, and also a pause on raids and duels.

For two and a half weeks there were no tip-offs on the Metamorphmagus murderer, much to the dismay of Harry and Ron. Her best friends were still worried about Hermione's safety, so they escorted her every night to her flat. She tried to make them see that the Metamorphmagus wasn't exactly on a mission to kill her, that was not how he worked, but neither cared. Her safety was on their priority list. On the other hand, Malfoy had stopped caring. He let Ron and Harry fawn over her. Malfoy no longer waited at night and hardly seemed to think protecting her was worth it. His indifference added more cracks to her already shattered heart.

A month later, Hermione's stomach was protruding quite a bit. She'd always been slender and petite, even more so as her time as an Auror. At three months pregnant, the evidence wasn't quite noticeable given her frame; she herself only saw it when she was nude, but no one else was seeing her bare, sadly, so she didn't find a reason to bother there. Her work robes hid everything quite well, even without them, but she decided to cast a concealment charm for the time being. She never knew if there were people who looked at every little detail, and she didn't want to give them a reason to talk so early on.

Before finding out that she was pregnant, Hermione's life was too busy to allow her a moment or two to focus on herself. She ate regularly to keep her strength and checked to make sure she hadn't any gaping wounds after a raid, but that was it. So if she had symptoms of morning sickness at that time, she hardly felt them. At three months, however, as she paid more attention to her changing body's needs, Hermione was feeling the brutality of morning sickness. Her breasts were quite tender, hurting even if she gave a little hop to her step—which made her quite happy not to be currently chasing after criminals—and her nausea was out of control. Thankfully, the nausea stayed true to the name of morning sickness and she hardly had to deal with it when in the Ministry.

When she went for a checkup, pale and dizzy right at seven in the morning one day, Angelina had simply patted her cheek tenderly and inquired that Hermione was nearly at the end of the period for those symptoms and that soon she'd be back to normal.

_'Are you going to tell them soon?'_ questioned Angelina instead as she lingered behind after the appointment was done. _'You're hiding pretty well, but soon you won't. Don't wait too long to tell them, they won't take it so well then.'_

_'I'm not exactly worried about their reactions for the time being,'_ Hermione had truthfully responded to her friend, slipping back on her clothing. _'I still have plenty to figure out for me to worry about how they are going to take this.'_

_'Are you going to tell the father?'_ was Angelina's next direct, insensitive question. _'You cannot do this alone, Hermione, please. If you know who it is, tell him. Don't carry the weight of this alone.'_

_'I think I might quit my job,_' Hermione ignored her Healer's plead, trying not to think of that herself. Her mind had been made up: she was never telling him. _'Before I give birth, that is. I think I might just work on a few freelance things after. Or, who knows, I might go to Brazil and join Luna and Neville there. She is always offering me a job as the editor for _The Quibbler_. It might not be my life cause, but it would be nice to get away for a while.'_

Angelina had quite a fiery personality, which made her fit right in as a new Weasley, but if she had harsh, truthful words to give to the brunette, she contained them. Her jaw locked, frustration and deep worry glittered in her dark eyes, but she no longer commented on the subject. The Healer just gave her patient a guideline of the foods she should be eating and a simple exercise outline. With that, Hermione left to work and continued on living the lie.

A part of Hermione wanted to tell Draco about the pregnancy. Everytime she looked at him, when they were alone and their silence was butchering her, she wanted to tell him. She wanted to hold his face in her hands, feel the smoothness of his skin, trace her finger over his heavenly lips, and just say it. She wanted to see his reaction on that silver glaze—but all hope crashed when she stepped out of her fantasy. He wasn't going to beam with pride or happiness, he was going to be downright outraged that she was so careless as to forget a Contraceptive Spell. If she told him, she would ruin his life.

So she kept pretending. She kept treating him like she always had, sans the passionate sex and time together that made the stars in the night sky shine with force.

"Why is this even happening to me right now?" Snapping her away from her silent, repetitive musings, Hermione heard Harry's loud, torturous-like groan. "Someone save me."

Hermione was torn between laughing or scolding him as he banged his forehead against the wall they were standing by. "Hush now, _Savior_; you've got to be at your best." Finally decided, she grabbed the back of his black blazer to stop him from another one of his forehead thumps. "This is the annual Remembrance Ball and you're Harry Potter. You have a duty to the people of the Wizardying World and the war's survivors."

Harry turned, his face grimacing like he was in dire pain. "You and Ron were there, too. You both played an important part in ending the war. Why can't either of you do this blasted speech? I don't even need to be here."

"I'm not doing your homework for you, Harry," the brunette scolded.

"Of course _you _would look at it like that," her best friend huffed in return.

Hermione gave him a parental scowl, but still laced her arm through his like she did so many times when they were in school, walking through the grounds on the rare times they had nothing to worry about. She squeezed his hand, looking up to give him a reassuring smile as she navigated them through the large hall where the Remembrance Ball was taking place.

The ballroom was quite a spectacular sight. It was large enough to hold the four hundred attendees, plus the orchestral group that was set up at the end where the stage was with their shiny instruments. The hall itself was breathtaking; the white, marble walls were all-around detailed with thick, smooth gold detail from the bottom and to the beginnings of the ceiling. The thick gold was arched over the windows, on the linings of the doors, and even in the little crevices of the walls that people hardly noticed. This golden detail came in form of flower patterns, vines, leaves, simple arches, crowns, lions, and even scantily robed Angel figures. The gold accentuated everything, captivating all eyes, tempting and creating the deepest urges to run fingers over the detail. As exquisite as the walls of the ballroom was, the ceiling was a masterpiece of its own, too. It resembled in every way possible the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel, which doned famous paintings from the like of Michelangelo.

As if not to interfere with the grandness of the ballroom, the decorations were simple. All the rectangle tables, strategically placed throughout the hall, were adorned with white, beige, and the lightest of gold-colored cloths. Three small, branchy trees were placed on every single table for decoration. These dainty trees held repetitive flowers that held their own language: burgundy nasturtiums to represent victory in battle; yellow zinnias for remembrance; glowing, white orchids for love; and red roses for respect. Little balls of light were ignited throughout the branches to light everything up.

"Oh, good, you found him." Hermione stopped her and Harry's path when she found a small group of familiar redheads and her date. Mrs. Weasley, Harry's mother-in-law and somewhat of an adoptive-mother figure, rushed over to him with a scolding look of her own. She finger-combed his unruly hair, trying to get it into place as best as she could, and then she adjusted his clothes and fixed his black tie.

The people in the background laughed at Mrs. Weasley's fuss, but Ginny was the only one who looked annoyed by it. Her mother seemed to forget quite often that none of them were children, they could take care of themselves well enough. Not to mention that her mother's worry made Ginny feel like she was lacking in her wifely duties.

"All right, Mum, that's enough," Ginny cut in, respectfully motioning her mother to back away. "He does this every year, it's fine. Now," she turned her gaze onto her husband, "you have to get ready. Your speech is scheduled to start in ten minutes."

Harry looked like he was going to vomit.

Ginny took this as a good enough sign. "Come, I'll go with you." She took his hand and tugged him, leading him as Hermione had, but this time to the stage in the ballroom.

Arthur and Molly Weasley headed back to their table, lazily followed by George and Angelina. Once there, they sat in the table where Bill and Fleur, Charlie, Percy and his wife Audrey were waiting for them.

"Nine years later and Harry is still..."

Hermione didn't hear the rest of what was leaving Ron's mouth. Harry and the Weasleys had departed, but two other figures strode quite gracefully towards the spot she was in. Her heart began to pick up in rhythm and her body began to pump ice instead of blood. Nausea came to her full-speed when she noticed that the couple approaching was holding hands, looking so painfully beautiful together that she wanted to die.

"Evening," drawled Draco Malfoy when he arrived to Hermione's group. His stormy gaze flickered quickly past the brunette, not giving her the proper attention she wanted from him.

"Well, you look beautiful, Granger," spoke Pansy Parkinson as she focused her own, blue eyes on the woman Malfoy cared not for. There was no malice in her voice, which wasn't a huge surprise in that juncture. Though Hermione was not friends with Pansy, they frequented quite a lot to make it possible to leave behind old animosity. She was one of two of Draco's closest friends, the other being Blaise Zabini, but Hermione always wondered if there was much more between them. They dated in Hogwarts, Draco and Pansy, so her thoughts on whether or not they rekindled that flame was always in the back of her head.

In the past two years, she was certain that Malfoy and Parkinson were nothing. He wouldn't be sleeping with Hermione if that was the case, right? He might be a lot of awful things, but one thing she respected about him was his loyalty. In the first year of their partnership, Malfoy was in a relationship with Astoria Greengrass. She visited him on occasion at the Ministry, Hermione would see them together in the cafeteria, keeping to themselves. Astoria had a very enamored glint in her eyes, something Hermione couldn't comprehend during that time, but Malfoy never returned it. He was polite and gentle with her, made her laugh, protected her even when they walked down a hall of the Ministry, but he wasn't in love. One night, when Hermione and Draco were stationed in Greece to follow one of their suspects, he had an opportunity to cheat on Astoria. She waited for him to bed the young woman throwing herself at him, but it never came. Hermione dared herself to ask why not, why if he wasn't in love with Astoria, why didn't he just go off and find another witch to satisfy his needs. Needless to say, he almost cursed her when he declared, _'as much as you like to think of me as scum, Granger, I don't treat women like yesterday night's trash'. _

But now things were different. Now, Hermione and Draco had gone five weeks without sleeping with each other. And in those five weeks, four times Pansy showed up to the Ministry and both went off together. In those five weeks, Hermione knew nothing of his doings. In those five weeks, Draco could have changed his mind and rekindled his past romance with Pansy. In those five weeks, Hermione became nothing more to him than an old adventure.

"That color suits you very well," added Pansy as she smiled and her eyes scanned Hermione's dress.

Hermione looked down at herself. Her gown was nowhere near as elegant, yet provocative as Parkinson's black, silk dress. Hermione's was an emerald lace dress that fell two centimeters above her knee. It had a sweetheart neckline that exposed the milky-white skin of her collarbones. The lace dress had a black material beneath it, and to match it a thin, black belt cinched in Hermione's waist. Simple black pumps tied it all together. As for her hair, Hermione's chestnut curls were magicked into classic waves parted at the middle, falling close to her waistline. For the occasion, Hermione had bold red lips that begged for attention, but the rest of her face was kept simple and polished.

"You seem to be glowing."

At Pansy's last comment, an arm wrapped around Hermione's bare shoulders. Her side was pressed onto someone else's. A very masculine and familiar cologne filled her senses so she looked up to find her date grinning.

"Of course she is, she's with me," informed Theodore Nott to his former Slytherins. "You know well enough the sort of reactions I give the ladies, Pansy."

The dark-haired witch frowned playfully at her old friend. "I must say that I am surprised," Pansy began, "that you and Granger are dating now. It seems like you failed to tell me the happy news last time we met, Theo."

A snort came from Hermione's side, but it wasn't from her date. It was Ron. "Don't feel insulted, Parkinson. Hermione didn't tell us about Nott until tonight. You can imagine _my _shock when I went to gather her for tonight's event and she was already in the arms of this git."

"It's not my fault you broke things off with Tracey and you had no one to bring," defended Hermione at her friend's aggravated tone. "Nor am I your last resort, Ronald. Besides, I don't have an obligation to inform you about my private life, do I?"

"How long have you been a couple, then?" Pansy questioned, ignoring the little argument between the two-thirds of the Golden Trio. Her eyes roamed Theodore's face, searching behind the surface.

"About a month now." It wasn't Hermione or Nott who answered, it was Draco. He had been silent, observing the people in front of him with a blank stare. As he avoided to look at Hermione, she had done the same. But when he spoke, when she looked to find his silver eyes digging into hers, she felt dizzy with regret.

Theodore squeezed the brunette tighter to his side. "Yeah, that's right. And here I thought," he pressed a chaste kiss on Hermione's head, "that you were keeping us quiet. You surprise me, love. You really do."

"I'm going to be sick," grunted Ron. "I'm heading to our table. See you lot in a bit."

"Care to join me for a glass of champagne?" Nott asked the question sweetly, but he didn't wait for his date to give her reply. Instead, he bid a quick farewell to his old classmates and then turned Hermione to head away from them.

Saying a few passing greetings to old familiars, the two reached a far table that was stocked with glass flutes of champagne.

"You are a phenomenal actor," Hermione whispered tersely at the handsome, dark-haired man beside her. "Bit over the top, though."

Theodore chuckled. "You don't know how they work, Hermione. It needed to be gushing with sap for people to buy it. We are supposed to be in the beginning stages of our relationship, it's all flowers and all that rubbish right now."

Hermione reached for a glass but Nott slapped her hand away. She gave him a hard look. "I'm obviously not going to drink it, Theo," she stated as if she was talking to an idiot. "I do realize I'm pregnant, you know."

"Don't you take that tone with me." Theodore playfully poked her shoulder with his index finger. "Look, Hermione, I'm just helping you. You were the one that asked for my assistance. I _did _tell you playing pretend was going to be a bad idea, but you got yourself into this mess and I just couldn't leave you on your own, could I?"

The brunette sighed in defeat. "You're a great friend, Theo," she muttered. "Thank you."

He took a close, intimate step to her. His left hand cupped the side of her face as his penetrating, indigo-colored eyes stared sadly at her.

Hermione became friends with Theodore when they returned to complete their Seventh Year at Hogwarts. He was the Head Boy to her Head Girl. She didn't think McGonagall's decision to have a Gryffindor and a Slytherin partnered together was a smart one, considering the animosity that had plagued the two houses even before the war. Despite her urgings to change the Head Boy, Hermione discovered that Theodore Nott was just trying to finish his education as peacefully and undetected as possible (something that was surprisingly common among returning Slytherin students). As it goes with two people whom never interacted with one another, it took time for Theo and Hermione to get to know each other. By the middle of term they were friends, and rather good ones at that. She learned a lot about him and he about her, and soon enough they formed quite the bond.

That bond grew and solidified itself after Hogwarts. Hermione was determined to live in the muggle world until she finished university there, and Theodore wanted to join her. He wanted the escape. He wanted to go someplace the world didn't label him as the spawn of a Death Eater and strive there. He found hope in the muggle world. He rented a flat near Hermione's university and they spent as much time as possible together. He became so dear to her heart, much to Ron's displeasure and Harry's confusion, and she knew Theo felt the same way about her.

Time after, Hermione finished university and was ready to dive back into the Wizardying world, but Theo was not. Though he visited his family and a few remaining friends (one of them Pansy) in the magical world frequently, he found his happiness among the muggles. He stayed there, working as a connection between muggle Parliament and the Ministry of Magic.

The lives of an Auror and Ministry worker weren't easy, but Theo and Hermione managed to find the time to stay in contact. After all, their bond was that of siblings and it would always stay that way. So when she most needed to talk to someone, when she most needed the help of someone that could pretend with her, she chose him. She gave him her secrets in hopes that he'd prolong the faux she'd invented until she figured out what to do.

"What are you doing, silly girl?" murmured Theo to his friend, gently rubbing his thumb across her cheek. "What are you going to do with all these lies?"

Tears pooled into Hermione's orbs. "I don't know," she brokenly replied. She wrapped her arms around Theo's middle and held on tight.

**X**

She was laying on the floor of her office when Draco walked in.

"What the hell are you doing, Granger?"

She turned her head to the left in order to spot him. She squinted as the light of the hall outside hit his pale, blonde hair and hurt her eyes. "I'm tired and I'm nauseous," she informed him, which was as honest as she's been with him for eight weeks now. Of course, she didn't tell him that her fatigueness and painfully acute sense of smell was due to her pregnancy, but that was beside the point.

For a moment, for the quickest moment in time, Draco looked warily at her. She might have thought she imagined it, seeing as he no longer cared about what happened to her, but the next words that left his mouth only proved her previous thought.

"You should go home, then. You've been looking terrible lately, Granger."

"That's lovely."

"Just saying it how it is," he responded flatly. "Look, it's almost seven, go home now. You can afford to get off a few minutes early."

Hermione inhaled deeply when the sudden smell of marinated meat entered her nostrils. She repressed a gag. "What is that ghastly smell, Malfoy?"

"That'd be the files." He waved the four case-files he was holding. "They were Weaselbee's sandwich holder before I retrieved them. Thought I might leave the smell so Potter can sniff them out tomorrow and then properly reprimand his sidekick."

"Oh, God, please get rid of it," Hermione groaned from the floor, her thumb and index finger pinching her nostrils together to block out the smell. "_Please_."

Malfoy looked keen not to, but he saw her sincere disgust and did the right thing. He used a bit of easy wandless magic to get rid of the odor before he tossed the files onto the ground.

"Thanks," Hermione said briefly as she reached for the top file. She opened it, and as she lay on the floor, she dangled the case above her to read. "Katia Romanoff finally decided to give information on her husband Ivan Romanoff, I see. Brilliant."

The brunette was too busy scanning the files to see that Malfoy was watching her intently. There was something off about her, he knew it. He knew her well enough to notice the little changes that were suddenly making her sick. He was worried, how could he not be? She'd been his partner for five years and not once had she'd weakened like she currently was. Not even when her parents died.

"I can't believe she supported his doings," Hermione continued. "What woman can live with a murderer? One who rapes and mutilates his victims, no less. Katia Romanoff must be mental or seriously damaged by her time as Ivan Romanoff's wife to have such an adoration for him. But, then again, victims with prolonged exposure to abuse confuse love with their mistreatment. It's sad, really."

Draco cleared his throat when Hermione's brown eyes found his, the warmth of them unsettling. "About that, Potter wants you to write a profile on Katia Romanoff based on his interrogation with her." He pulled out a metallic, rectangular device from the pocket of his trousers that looked quite odd in his hold. It was a small video camera Hermione insisted Harry take to his interrogations. (She also extracted his memory of these interrogations when she couldn't be there, but at her current nauseated state, she rather not dive into a pensieve).

"Potter thinks Katia Romanoff is lying when she said she hasn't seen her husband in twenty years."

"Naturally," mumbled Hermione. "The cycle of trauma would have broken if Ivan Romanoff has been gone for that long. No abuse, no horrific crimes to cover up—she would have began to see her husband as the psychopath that he is. But if she's speaking praises about him, it's likely that he's found his way into Russia."

With effort, Hermione pulled herself into a sitting position. She waited a moment for her dizziness to calm itself before she actually moved. Once that was settled, she extended her hand out to ask for the video camera. Malfoy was careful not to touch her skin when he gave it to her, something that didn't go unnoticed or unhurt from Hermione's part.

"Right," she cleared her throat. "Can you bring me the case of profiles I've written for the other Romanoff family members? It's on my desk. Oh, and my quill, too, please."

As Malfoy went off to the direction of her desk, Hermione turned on the video camera. Grey static showed up on the screen of the camera for the first second, but then it was Harry's face pressed up onto the screen. She laughed at the awkward face he purposely pulled for her entertainment, seeing as she was the only one that watched the recordings. The few seconds following that, Harry sat on the empty chair of the interrogation table.

The woman across from Harry looked to be about the age of sixty, quite mature and experienced, but there was something about the fiddle of her fingers that Hermione tied with a child's timidness. Her shaking hands were evidence to her fear, but it also was evidence to her abuse. A woman who'd been married to a horrific man for so long developed nervous habits that never quite settle. In Katia Romanoff's case, the evidence one suggested that the pain and dread was still fresh.

"Granger, there's a mess on your desk. Where is it?"

"Just look," Hermione called back offhandedly as her focus was on the video.

On the screen, Harry cleared his throat, making unexpecting noise in the silent room. The woman jumped, startled. _'Mrs. Romanoff,'_ Harry had begun to speak, _'thank you for agreeing to meet with us. Your help is appreciated.'_

The woman in the video said nothing.

_'You do understand that we are looking for your husband, correct? He is the prime suspect of twelve murders in Britain.'_ Harry opened a file that was on the interrogation table. He turned it so that the woman's eyes could glance at it. _'They were young, innocent women, Mrs. Romanoff. Your husband not only sexually abused these women, but he grotesquely tortured them. The patterns of his murders match the ones he committed in Russia before he vanished.'_

The woman's hands shook more. _'I-Ivan was...He was wrongly accused—'_

"What the fuck is this, Granger?"

Hermione's focus on the video was distracted when it was ripped away from her. She glared at Malfoy when he shoved it back into his pocket. "Give it back, Malfoy! I'm trying to do my—"

"What the fuck is this, Granger?!" he repeated, this time the question echoing around her office walls. He was holding a sheet of parchment, clutching it as if it had somehow offended him.

"What are you—"

"What is this?!" He threw her the paper. As he did, he bent down so that his hands could grab a hold of her shoulders, picking her up by them. His grasp on her shook, reflecting an anger that Hermione couldn't quite comprehend.

She winced, but said nothing. She unwrinkled the parchment so that she could read it. Reprimanding words were about to leave her mouth, but instead a choked gasp came out of her. What her eyes were reading was the medical results of her latest checkup. Mortified, the first line written in Angelina's penmanship said: _At four months pregnant, the patient Hermione Granger..._


	5. Not Good Enough

**Chapter Five: **Not Good Enough**  
**

He hated her in the beginning, absolutely fucking abhorred her. He was taught to, her and her kind, but _her _righteous, all-knowing attitude contributed to his hate in the course of the following years. She wasn't just a Mudblood, someone who didn't belong in his world, but she thought she was _better _than him. She turned her nose up at him, eyes judging him like she knew exactly what he was about. But that wasn't the worst of it—the _pity _in her eyes only made him loath her more. She gazed at him like he was a lost cause, like he was a wounded soldier dragging himself through the battlefield.

That hate remained the same until she was dragged into his manor on a night when everything changed. There was so much going on in his life during those miserable days; thoughts plagued his mind, demanding answers for questions he never thought of asking before. His entire life crumbled and everything he knew as being right was taken from him. His parents created that platform of truth and when it was destroyed they couldn't make him another. The same wrongness that he felt reflected off their eyes. His father, someone he used to admire, a man who was high in power, who made people tremble and obey, had withered. He became a disgraced drunk; a man imprisoned in his own home. His mother, a once elegant woman, someone proud to be associated with the elite, dark circles, now drowned in regret. She was a woman haunted with failure; her arrogance and trust in her husband only brought upon destruction to her family.

Surrounded by death, torture, and madmen only served to make Draco ponder if his past beliefs were wrong. The answer ultimately became clear when his Aunt Bellatrix tortured Hermione Granger in front of him. There was an incredible pleasure and unwavering insanity in Bellatrix's eyes that the muggle-born's cries and pleads never halted her. Not once did his aunt shiver, not once did she look remorseful, and not once did she pause to focus on the damage she was doing.

The letters Bellatrix had brutally carved onto Granger's arm bled red. _Red_. She, the mudblood, bled red like purebloods. There was no difference, which meant there never had been a difference before. Everything was a lie.

Draco hated Granger with all his being before, but then and there, as her screams dug their way into his eardrums, traumatizing him, scarring him, he knew that he was wrong. Everything was so fucking wrong with who he was and what the world had become. He couldn't move with the realization, but also because the image of Granger being tortured was something that was going to haunt his dreams at night...

The war came to an end not long after that horrible night. He was arrested, as it was to be expected, and a part of him resigned to it. He was so tortured by everything he'd seen during the war, by everything that he'd _done _during the war, that he knew he needed punishment. Or maybe he hoped that the lonely, cold cell in Azkaban would give him the escape he was too much of a coward to take from Death. Pieces of him longed for freedom—freedom from Malfoy Manor, his parents, and the aftermath of war. But especially he needed to hide from his parents, and then maybe he'd stop hating them.

Because he hated them no matter how much he loved them. They were responsible for the lies that made him king in his own eyes, that allowed him to mistreat and hate, that made him want blood supremacy, that made him serve a madman with a lust for blood and power. His own parents, the two people on the surface of the planet that were supposed to protect him _above all else_ led him straight to hell.

He was only in Azkaban for two days before he was pulled out and a trial for his defense started down in the court rooms. He almost choked on his own oxygen when he found the damn Golden Trio ready to testify for his release.

All the time that the trial went on he couldn't look any of them in the eye, especially not Granger. Even more so when she took the stand and told the Wizengamot that she believed he was just an ignorant boy who was misguided, who had done all those awful things by the Dark Lord's manipulation and threat. When the verdict was made, when he was sentenced to a year of probation and lifelong sessions of Legilimens, he had an urge to find Granger and ask for forgiveness. It was odd, strange to want it, but he felt like he _needed _to do it. The motive was majorly selfish: he desperately believed that if he did apologize that he'd stop seeing her in his nightmares.

She was no longer there when he found some will to look up. The only one who stayed behind was Potter. Potter who was not afraid to march up to him, look him dead in the eye, and say, _'I hope you find your way now, Malfoy.'_

Despite his mother's wishes, Draco went back to Hogwarts to finish his education. He was always someone who enjoyed school, though not the people around him in past years, and it was important for him to end his time there. So he went back, keeping his head down and working hard. He finished second in his year, not surprised at all that it was Granger in the lead.

He was eighteen and with a lot of time on his hands when he decided to go in for Auror training. Again, his mother protested against it, she didn't want him around danger (the irony), even his father who was serving three years in Azkaban wanted him to handle the family business, but Draco followed his own choice. He was learning to forgive his parents, but he was done obeying them. He wanted to be an Auror, to right the wrongs he'd done and rid the world of demented fucks.

Potter was one of his trainers, the latter already with two years of Auror experience under his belt, when Draco finally decided to apply. Potter was skeptical to see him there, that much had been obvious, but Potter was as forgiving as he was a fucking git. He kept Draco at a distance, but he complimented him on his abilities and helped him expand them. For a year they trained, but once he was certified, Draco wasted no time in getting away from Britain. After solving two seemingly easy cases, Draco volunteered himself on a case to the remote islands by the Caribbean. It was an impossible one, no Auror wanted it, but then again, no one was more desperate to get away and prove himself than Draco. So at nineteen he left with a head full of determination.

Draco was twenty-one when he returned to Britain. His father was out of Azkaban, serving another three years of house-arrest and one of them without his wand before he was a complete 'free man', and Draco still refused to take over the family business for him. He marched right back to the Ministry of Magic to receive his praises for solving the impossible case and get his rightful place among the Aurors. The Head Auror, impressed by his work, welcomed him back with rewards: an office and a partner.

Potter appeared in the Head's office, still looking high on his fucking horse, according to Draco, and led him to his partner.

It was not as if he had expected for history to have been completely forgotten when he reunited with Granger, but he also wasn't expecting for her to hate with such fervor as she hated him. There was no hint of that compassionate girl everyone raved about; she was aggressive and wanted him out of her way. He retaliated, of course he did. It was expected. He was not going to let the fucking Gryffindor get away with climbing up on a pedestal and look down at _him_. It was impossible to work together, that was obvious, but he wasn't going to be the first one to forfeit.

In the end, neither of them quit. They were too stubborn for that. Kingsley Shacklebolt was the one who settled the animosity in the end. He demanded a pact of civility from Draco and Granger, and no one bloody well said no to the Minister of Magic.

Both reluctant partners adopted the Minister's order of civility and months of silence ensued. She no longer enticed him into their famous, infuriated arguments that would shake the walls of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and he no longer gave her reasons to become so righteous and angry. They did their work and hesitantly, slowly, grudgingly, they both began to accept that their partnership was actually a brilliantly matched one—brain-wise. Both were beyond capable and produced incredible results together.

By the third year of working together he began to see some changes in her. She loosened up around him, quite literally letting her hair down when they hunched over evidence in either one of their offices to the latest hours of the night. She became more of herself, showing him hints of what he imagined having her as a friend would be like. She had a fascination for biting the end of her quill when she was deep in thought, she tapped her fingers (much to his annoyance) when her patience was wearing thin, and though she was always collected and polite, her mood could change in an instant to that of an untamable lion.

She also spoke quite a lot. At first he thought she'd finally lost her mind, that she was starting to talk to herself, but she was actually talking to _him_. The first times he caught her droning on about a past memory, he'd scowl at her importune conversation and was ready to straightforwardly tell her to _shut the fuck up_, but then he noticed the sparkle in her eyes. For the first time in the three years of having to deal with each others presence she looked at him like he was worthwhile, like she could trust him. She obviously wasn't sharing her secrets, thank Salazar for that, but she shared moments of the past that made her angry, that made her sad, and that made her happy.

He noticed that her eyes were the color of the summer sun, golden and inviting. Everything about her was exactly like that: _warm._ She brought life to cold nights. He didn't know how he missed it before, but she was something quite magical that he had never encountered before. She captivated him and he had no fucking idea how that was possible. He didn't know when or where, but she sunk deep into his skin and he couldn't get her out. Those summer eyes replaced the memories of nightmares he had of her and everything changed.

There was nothing he could have done about those infuriating, unwanted emotions, and he _tried_. He frequently tried to get her out of his head, but nothing worked. No one fulfilled him. No one came close to her, and he did not even know every inch of her heart and soul._ He just knew._ He just knew that there was no one like Hermione Granger and he hated her for it. Because he wanted to believe and accuse her of bewitching him, but he knew the world was punishing him now for all the wrong he'd done in the past. Falling for her, wanting her as desperately as he wanted her, was the world's way of repaying him back for the evil he'd done.

Consequently, he was painfully aware that he'd never be able to have her. Everything pointed to it from the start. When they first became partners she was in a long-term relationship with the worthless Weasel: it was something that was obviously destined as everyone had known since Hogwarts that the two would end up together. She'd waste away at his side, but she loved him for some bizarre reason, and life carried on. Then one day, when he was having lunch with Astoria, his girlfriend at the time, he saw Hermione from the corner of his eye sit away from Potter and the Weasel. He'd thought it odd, had stored it away to use against her if she got out of line later that day, but it was actually Astoria who informed him that the two had broken up (how she knew that, Draco hadn't bothered to ask because he didn't give a single fuck about it at the time). A few months after that, about the time Draco began to see her in a different light, Michael Corner came back into her life. They had a relationship that lasted almost a year. And not too long after that, the Weaslette began to pressure the brunette on the 'ever so charming' Oliver Wood. Every single bloke was a useless git, but they all had something that he would never have...

Draco had known he was going to lose a war that he had no chances of winning anyway. But then one night fate created the tiniest glimmer of a chance and he took it.

A week before her twenty-fifth birthday Draco noticed a cloud of gloom lingering above her. She was always that ray of light that he looked forward to seeing on a day to day basis, but that week she was anything but content. She tried to be, tried to hide her sadness, but she failed miserably. Once he'd caught her summer eyes misty with rain. She assured him that it was nothing, but he saw right through it. Potter and the Weasel could believe her lies, but he didn't. No one ever fooled him. In hopes to bring her a smile, something genuine that would be due all to _him_, Draco went in search for something that could bring her joy.

They were putting away case files the night before her birthday when he decided to give her the gift he bought her. She looked hesitant at it and a part of him grew angry that there was suspicion in her gaze. It angered him that she thought he'd give her something that would curse her, harm her in any way. Before he could snatch it back, he told her to open it with a flat voice. So she did. The wariness that'd previously been in her eyes was replaced with utter surprise. Tears appeared soon after and he hadn't a fucking clue if that was a good or bad sign. But then she hugged him.

When her arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him in with physical strength he wasn't aware that she had, he knew he was done for. He couldn't bring himself to touch her, to hold her as she was doing to him because a part of him was giving her the chance to pull away before his selfishness took over his senses.

And right when she began to loosen her arms and step back, he decided that he was going to have her even if for the smallest amount of time. So he kissed her passionately, pouring in all the want he'd been keeping hidden from her, and to his shock she responded back. She responded with more enthusiasm than he could have ever imagined. He took her twice against the floor of her office before they finally went their separate ways.

That entire weekend he wondered if she would regret it. He wondered when they met up on Monday morning if she wouldn't look him in the eye or if she'd pretend it never happened. What he had not expected, what caught him by surprise, was that at the end of the work day she invited him back to her flat with a promise of a repeat of what happened in her office. Hiding his eagerness, Draco followed after her.

He took everything her body had to offer because he knew that was the only way he would ever have her. Someone like her, someone who had never been corrupted by darkness, someone whose insides were swimming with light and love, could never take interest in someone like Draco Malfoy. He done so much wrong in his life, someone with Hermione's soul would never be compatible with the damaged one he carried inside. So he took her body, he marked and claimed her skin, devoured her lips and everything else she laid before him without remorse. That was the only way.

In the two years that their arrangement was taking place he found himself walking down a very unstable path. He never knew when it was all going to crumble. He never knew when she would finally tell him that enough was enough, that she no longer found any use for him. He waited anxiously for the day that a _pretentious fucker_ came into her life and managed to steal her and her heart away from him. He knew that day would come, he'd be a downright idiot if he didn't think that one day she'd fall in love with someone equal to her.

He dated in the course of those two years just as she did. He hated her for it, but he couldn't blame her. He couldn't order her not to move on with her life, he couldn't forbid her from searching for a soulmate, and because he couldn't, he didn't want to be left behind either. He didn't want her to find someone and leave him in the dust. He dated women here and there, but none of them came close to giving him what Hermione could. No one else made him feel like he was alive. No one else had the power to heal what he thought was so beyond repair like her. No one made him believe like her.

Then the fucking dreaded moment came. He Floo'd into her flat, longing to be in her presence, desperate to have her securely in his arms after she was hexed by a demented murderer, but she refused him. For the first time in two years, she rejected him. She looked him in the eye, so fucking unaware that with that simple glance his heart was taking off as if he had wings, and she told him: _'I've been seeing someone...' _

He never knew heartbreak until that night. Never in his life had he ever experienced such a connection with someone, never had he ever felt so cared for like in her arms, never had he felt like he belonged like when he was with her, but it all had been one-sided. She broke his heart and he allowed her to. That had been his mistake. Draco had given the fucking Gryffindor the power to destroy him and she had no fucking clue. So she smashed his heart by giving hers to someone else. He felt like falling to the floor, crying like a child, but his pride was too strong to let him. He would not crumble before her. So he left her, he left her behind as if none of it mattered.

Time progressed and every blasted day felt like a lifetime. Every day he had her so close to touch, every day he was locked up with her in an office, and every day he felt the world shatter around him. She smiled at him like it was nothing, she talked to him like she'd always done—he hated her for treating him like he was one of her fucking useless friends. And then there was that glow, that glow on her skin that made her eyes big and warm, that made her skin smooth and luminous, and every little thing about her look so bloody perfect.

He wanted to commit murder for he thought she was certainly in love.

The night of the Remembrance Ball came and he saw her with Theodore Nott. He was glued to her side, arm draped around her shoulders, around her waist, or sometimes holding her hand. Nott walked around the fucking hall like he owned her, like it was _his _fingerprints on her skin, like it was _his _name that she called when she shivered in delight. Draco had her over and over again, but Nott strutted around like there was no trace of him on Hermione.

'_They are cute, aren't they?' _Daphne Greengrass had joined his table with her boyfriend Blaise Zabini. Draco had been drinking heavily, but he kept his composure and elegance as he'd been taught. No one noticed that slight pink shade in his cheeks that was due to the full bottle of Firewhiskey he downed himself in order to sedate the monster inside of him (other than Pansy who observed every little fucking thing like it was her bloody job). _'Granger and Theo.'_

'_I'm quite surprised about that, actually,'_ Pansy replied to the blonde woman. _'I'm as close to Theo as I've always been, but he never even mentioned that he was still keeping touch with her. I saw him two weeks ago and, while he did look too happy for my tolerance, he never said anything about him dating Granger.'_

Daphne laughed bemusedly at Pansy's direction._ 'They aren't an item, Pansy. Nott has a girlfriend. Her name is Eloise and she's the daughter of the muggle Prime Minister.'_

The dark-haired witch frowned unpleasantly. _'And how exactly do you know that, Daphne? You're not even friends with Theo.'_

'_That doesn't mean my mother isn't still best friends with his mother. Mrs. Nott let it slip; she was quite proud of her son and his connection with important muggles. Mother couldn't resist to pass on the information to me soon after.'_ Daphne picked up her flute of champagne, taking a graceful sip before lowering it back onto the table. _'Unless, of course, Nott was lying to his mother and he is actually dating Granger. It wouldn't come as a surprise, would it? They were quite the pair of friends during Hogwarts. None of us can be sure about what really happened in the Head Dorms that could've led to this.'_

Pansy had turned to Draco at that moment as Blaise changed the conversation to get his girlfriend's attention. Pansy's eyes were filled with curiosity, but also anger. She wanted to get to the bottom of it all and she was going to drag Draco into it. And she did. She grabbed his hand and led him towards the direction of Hermione and her friends.

Draco knew then and there that Granger had lied to him. She had not been dating anyone, especially not Theodore Nott. Nott made it perfectly clear by the way he looked at his date. He might be holding her close, gently touching her, but there was nothing in his gaze nor in hers that suggested romance. If someone as fucked up as the spawn of Death Eaters loved, women and men alike, then it'd show. Light would crack through the darkness of their gaze and expose their vulnerability of loving someone. All Draco saw was mere affection in Nott's eyes for Hermione, the kind that Potter used when looking over the brunette, too.

He wanted to confront her the days following the Remembrance Ball, but he couldn't find the will to do so. He was angry, that alone was enough motive, but what exactly would he reproach her about? As much as he loved to claim her body as his, it wasn't his to claim. Nothing of hers was his. She belonged to no one. He would only look like a pathetic, perverted fool if he demanded to know why she decided to stop sleeping with him. And he would not risk that sort of humiliation no matter how angry or how desperately he needed her back in his arms.

The choice, then, was made: he would let her go. There was no future for them, he'd known that even before he stole a kiss from her. Nothing could ever happen because he was dark and she was light, he was the dead of winter and she was the life that came in the spring and summer. That was the truth that would keep them apart, just as in the past when pureblood and mudblood labels forbade interaction. Things were not filled with hate as they were then, but the consequences of that prejudice was the destroyer of his desires. That past made something absolutely true, something that killed a piece of him to say—he was not good enough for her.

He was still in the process of figuring out if he wanted to fully remove her from his life or if he would let his pride weigh down his feet and keep him returning everyday to be her partner. He mentioned the idea of wanting to go back to the Caribbean to the few people in his life, casually speaking of how he missed the sun there, so that if he decided to leave it would not cause suspicions of the real reason why...

Draco was pondering that idea again as he marched to his partner's office. He put it in the back of his mind, pulling on that infamous mask that made everyone wonder what he was truly thinking about, as he used a bit of wandless magic to open Granger's office door.

He found her laying on the floor, arms spread horizontally, her curls acting as a pillow beneath her head, looking more than exhausted. He briefly thought of the numerous times he left her that way on her mattress.

"What the hell are you doing, Granger?" he asked as his hands tightened around the files he was carrying.

She turned to face him and the brown in her eyes reminded him of the warmth that was missing in his life. "I'm tired and nauseous," she responded with a low, tired groan.

"You should go home, then. You've been looking terrible lately, Granger."

She frowned at him. "That's lovely."

"Just saying it how it is." She was absolutely beautiful to him every single second of the day, but he also knew her body more than she knew it. He saw the changes that were taking her over little by little. Her skin might be glowing, but underneath her eyes dark shades of sleepless purple were taking over. She became quite pale and dizzy doing the simplest things, not to mention he noticed her pushing away the foods that she always gladly took. Everything seemed to be making her sick.

"Look," he added, "it's almost seven, go home now. You can afford to get off a few minutes early."

She opened her mouth to be stubborn, he could tell, but then a look of disgust crossed her eyes. "What is that ghastly smell, Malfoy?"

"That'd be the files." Draco raised the archives in his hold. "They were Weaselbee's sandwich holder before I retrieved them. Thought I might leave the smell so Potter can sniff them out tomorrow and then properly reprimand his sidekick."

Hermione became instantly pale and pain etched across her features. "Oh, God, please get rid of it," she almost cried. "_Please_."

Draco eyed her suspiciously and also with heavy annoyance. If the bloody bint was sick she should go home, just as he suggested, but she always did as she bloody pleased. He was almost tempted to enhance the smell so it would drive her home, but he imagined that by doing so he would only cause her to vomit, or by the looks of it, faint. He didn't want to be responsible for that.

He vanished the foul odor the idiot Weasel left on their files and Hermione muttered a thanks. A quick moment after that she asked for the files he was holding, as if not to let silence settle between them, something he found that she was doing quite often in the past eight weeks; like she was afraid that he'd take the opportunity to engage her in conversations they had shared in the past. It aggravated him to think that she no longer found use in him even for that.

"...Katia Romanoff must be mental or seriously damaged by her time as Ivan Romanoff's wife to have such an adoration for him. But, then again, victims with prolonged exposure to abuse confuse love with their mistreatment. It's sad, really."

Her summer eyes found his stormy ones and he realized that she had continued talking about the case just as he had allowed his mind to torment itself because of her. Honestly, he was finding that he hated her just as much as he loved her.

"About that," Draco cleared his throat, "Potter wants you to write a profile on Katia Romanoff based on his interrogation with her." He reached into the pocket of his black trousers to take out the muggle device that Potter used to capture his interrogation with the wife of the demented Metamorphmagus.

"Naturally," mumbled Hermione. "The cycle of trauma would have broken if Ivan Romanoff has been gone for that long. No abuse, no horrific crimes to cover up—she would have began to see her husband as the psychopath that he is. But if she's speaking praises about him, it's likely that he's found his way into Russia."

He watched as she struggled to sit up. Sickness took up her face once more, but she seemed to ignore it when she extended her hand out to him to ask for the muggle device. He wanted to give her his hand instead, to have her yank him down so that he was pressed into her, as she'd done so many times in the past two years, but he knew that wouldn't happen. She was done. And because she was, he had to be, too.

He walked close enough to give her the device and was cautious enough not to touch any part of her smooth skin in the process. It was like a drug. He was now eight weeks clean of it, if he had just a little access to it, he'd fall back down.

She stared oddly at him and he was almost afraid that she saw his struggle.

"Can you bring me the case of profiles I've written for the other Romanoff family members?" Granger asked instead. "It's on my desk. Oh, and my quill, too, please."

Usually, he would never take an order from her, even if what she asked for was a favor, Draco didn't do favors, but he needed a moment to be out of her vision. He needed to settle his urges for her.

He heard her laugh as he went to her desk. He looked back for a moment as flashes of memory entered his mind, reminding him of the times that he made her laugh without meaning to. It was always music to his ears. It pleased his darkened heart to know that someone like him, someone who had only caused her pain and humiliation, could make her produce laughter that came from places deep within her. He longed for that again.

"Granger," he called past his gritted teeth as that nostalgia woke his frustration, "there's a mess on your desk. Where is it?"

"Just look," Hermione replied distractedly as her attention was on that blasted muggle device.

Draco could hear Potter's voice come out of the device as he stared at the scatter of files and sheets of parchment the brunette had on her desk. She was usually organized, but even that had been changing in the past weeks as well (he thought it reflected her mind). He was about to Accio the files she asked for, but he noticed a bouquet of deep, red roses that was sat on the corner of her desk. They weren't her doing, Draco knew that much of her; she hated roses. She told him once that they reminded her of her parents' funeral. That only meant that someone gave them to her.

He knew he shouldn't care, that he should stay out of Granger's life, and if the roses meant something to her then it wasn't his fucking problem, but what self-respected Slytherin did not snoop? He was quick to find the disregarded letter that came with the bouquet.

_Dearest Hermione,_

_Thank you for being a magnificent friend yesterday night. Eloise was beyond enamored with you. She was ready to meet my magical friends and I knew there was no one more perfect than you for her to meet. You truly are filled with grace and intellect, something she was raving about after you left. Now she has to meet the others, but that's currently postponed. Not that I mind helping you, but I'd like to fully introduce her to my world. I honestly think Eloise might be the one._

_As for tomorrow morning, I am free to go with you to St. Mungo's. Though, I still think you should tell Ginny. I love you with all my heart, Hermione, but something like this should be shared with her and not me._

_Be brave, little Gryffindor, and tell the truth. Do it before it all gets to be too much. _

_With love,_

_Theo. _

Draco stared at Nott's letter with confusion. What the hell was he talking about? What was Granger hiding? What did she need to be brave about? And why the fuck was Nott going with her to St. Mungo's?

He blinked back to Granger and he found her fully focused on the taped interrogation. He used the opportunity to move away some files in order to find her mail. If Granger had an appointment at the hospital tomorrow then there had to be a reminder that was owled to her that morning. It was the Ministry's policy seeing as Aurors often forgot about their appointments and, as they were constantly wounded or around dark magic, they needed St. Mungo's to hunt them down with any means to get them to attend.

It didn't take long to find a letter marked with the St. Mungo's seal. What he expected to find was the reminder, but he got more than he could have ever imagined when he read the letter.

_At four months pregnant, the patient Hermione Granger is showing signs of perfect health. Morning sickness is normal among pregnant women, and it is still quite common for women to suffer these symptoms until the 18th week of pregnancy. Though these symptoms should not interfere with her work or her attention regarding her investigations, it is recommended that Miss Granger go on maternity leave at five months rather than the legal seven months given her_—

Granger was pregnant. Granger was four months pregnant. It'd been eight fucking weeks since he last slept with her. She had not been dating anyone in that time. She had lied to him. She had fucking lied and now she was pregnant? Four months ago. Four fucking months.

"What the fuck is this, Granger?!" He was instantly at her side, crossing to her in a blur of fury. He'd taken the muggle device from her hands and she looked up in utter confusion. She had been about to protest, but he silenced her when he threw her the St. Mungo's letter he found. "What is this?!"

Just as quick as he'd gone to confront her, he was just as fast to grab her by her arms and roughly yank her onto her feet. She was still surprised and unaware of what was going on, but sparing one look at the blasted letter and the pink beneath her cheeks faded. She was mortified when she looked back up at him.

"M-Malfoy, I—"

His hands tightened around her arms and he felt his nails dig into her skin. "Four fucking months pregnant?! _Four?!_"

She winced but he was not distracted. He wasn't sure what the tears in her eyes were for, but he knew there was guilt behind them. She was drowning in remorse more than she was in fear.

"You don't understand," she cried. "I-I...I'm sorry, okay! I messed up! I was—"

"You fucking lied to me, Granger!" he hissed at her, interrupting her excuses. "What the hell were you going to fucking say about this? Were you just hoping that I bloody didn't put two and two together?! I'm not fucking daft, Granger!"

Tears fell from her eyes and rolled down her cheeks. "I didn't want you to hate me," she answered through breathy, panicked puffs. "I was wrong. I was wrong. I...I-I forgot the Contraceptive Spell and...and—_I got scared!_ What was I else was I supposed to do, Malfoy? It was an accident! It was an accident, I'm sorry!"

His fury was still blazing underneath his skin, making his hands shake as he clutched on to her, as he stared at her and hoped that his gaze burned down every bit of her lies into ashes. He felt the fury bring upon the darkness in his soul that made him do and say the worst things imaginable, but he somehow halted himself. He saw the fear in her eyes now and it made him sick to realize that she was afraid of _him_.

His fingers loosened and he stepped away from her as gently as he could. He couldn't settle on an emotion; everything was a maddening whirlwind. He was angry, frustrated, scared, surprised, confused, miserable, and—

"You don't have to do anything about it, Malfoy," she broke his chain of thoughts when she added more to the tornado in his mind. He glanced back at her, focusing on her brown eyes only to find that she was still crying, but there was a sincerity in that glossy gaze when she spoke. "It was my mistake. I'll handle it. I'll—"

"DO YOU FUCKING THINK—" he paused when his yelling made her jump and added more fear to her expression. He had to find reason in the darkest, smallest places in his mind that would allow him to level his voice. "Who do you take me for, Granger? Do you think I'd just abandoned you with something like this? You're pregnant with my child!"

Salazar, he processed that last bit, she was pregnant with _his _child. His child. In her womb, in that very moment, right at that second, just like in the past eight weeks, she was carrying his child. They were going to have a child together. Them. She and him. Draco and Hermione. They created a child together.

Hermione seemed stumped. He saw her fear reduce in small numbers and confusion now etched across her face. "Y-You wouldn't...? Malfoy, I-I..." She covered her face with her palms and he could hear her crying from behind them.

It was automatic when he saw her cry to feel like he needed to gather her in his arms and hold her tight. He'd been the reason so many times in the past for her tears, all because of his taunts and his cowardliness, but when he fell for her he vowed to himself to never be the cause of it again. He vowed to protect her as he should've done that night in his manor so many years ago.

"Don't!" But she backed away from him as soon as he decided to take a step towards her. She put up her palms as a means to block him, to forbid him from approaching. "I didn't want this to happen! I didn't want you to know and—_I didn't want this!_ I didn't! It was an accident! I didn't want this!"

She fell to her knees and covered her face once more with her hands. Her tears turned to sobs, sobs that made her shake and that echoed around the walls of her office. He watched her. He felt her. The hate she was radiating with every hysterical cry only proved what he knew all along: she could never love him. Someone like her could never want anything with someone like him. For fuck sakes, she'd been scared of him. She never told him about it because she knew he'd stay with her. She called it an accident, a mistake.

She didn't want anything of his.

The painful fall his heart took at the sight of her, at her words still ringing in his ears, was not given the proper time to be dealt with when the door to her office was slammed open. In came two flashes of reminder that Draco Malfoy was nothing but a cancerous disease.

Potter was instantly kneeling beside Hermione, arms wrapped around her shoulders and pressing her into his chest. She melted into him. Her body reacted in his arms. She was crying and shaking, but somehow she seemed protected and safe.

The idiot Weasel was fumbling in his pockets for his wand, his freckled, disgusting face red to the ears with his own share of hate, mistrust, and anger he always felt for Draco.

"Tell him to leave, Harry!" Hermione cried into his chest. "Tell him to go!"

Draco didn't wait for Saint Potter or Weaselbee to tell him to fuck off. Draco went straight for the door and didn't look back. He could hear her crying, the sound cutting him as it followed him to the doors of the lift.

He didn't know where he was going, but he needed to go. He didn't know how to deal with a broken heart, but he knew he would not handle it like everyone else. He needed to get faraway, faraway from her, faraway from people, or he'd break. Not only himself, but everything around him.

She was done with him and he had to be done with her.


	6. What the Silence Took

**Chapter Six: **What the Silence Took**  
**

From corner to corner in the Wizardying World, Hermione Jean Granger was the witch of all witches. Her story was told countless of times to inspire younger generations to be what she was. She was the example of a magical being the leaders of the Wizardying World wanted to produce in order to shape their world: compassionate, intelligent beyond belief, determined, hardworking, and fearless. They spread word of her story as more than just Harry Potter's friend; she was a soldier, a heroine, and a brave Gryffindor. All over the Wizardying World she was a legend.

But no one knew Hermione Jean Granger like Hermione Jean Granger did. They put her up on a pedestal, but she was nowhere near to the top. They praised her brain, but she was useless in regards to everything that didn't come out from a book. They celebrated her bravery, but she was nothing more than a coward. They thought her unwavering, but she was now crawling through the sharp shambles of her life.

She used to tell Ginny that she didn't date because she didn't have the time for it, but Hermione had come to the realization that she was just _incapable _of romance. She didn't understand it. She feared it.

Love was easy. Love was something she felt profusely since the moment she was born. She loved Mother Nature: the sand between her toes when she was at the beach, summer days, spring nights, the first fall of snow, and the assortment of colors in a flower garden. She loved her parents: her mother's blue, blue eyes, her father's brown ones, the smile on her mother's face, her dad's words of wisdom, her mum's light, her dad's humor, and the protection she felt in their home. Hermione loved her friends: Ginny's fierceness and sweetness, Harry's loyalty and brotherly affection, Ron's endearing clueless-ness and heart, Luna's bizarreness and bluntness, Neville's tenderness, and Theo's humor and strength. She loved life: the people, the cities, the stories, the knowledge, change, and time.

No one loved as fiercely as Hermione loved. She gave get heart to so many things and so many people. Love was easy for her, but _romance _was an entirely different matter.

Romantic love was not for someone like her.

Romance required the heart and mind to come together in order to survive. The heart and mind needed to be partners, but neither ever weighed equally the same. There was no balance. Though the heart and mind needed one another, one was always going to lose in the grand scheme of romance. It was a power struggle. If the heart was ahead of the game, one lost their mind. If the mind was winning, the heart would never feel to its potential. Together, whether ahead or behind, they were disaster. It took someone incredibly brave to offer both to someone, and Hermione was just not _that _brave.

She lost her head and her heart when she tried to understand love. Hermione broke her own heart and disappointed her wisdom when she let herself fall for Draco Malfoy. Since then, nothing made sense. Everything turned upside down, crashed, turned right up, crashed again, and then turned upside down once more. There was just no sense in her loving Malfoy, but she did. She did love him when it was clear that she couldn't. It wasn't just because her love was unrequited, but it had to do with the fact that she just didn't _know _how.

She loved him so that she lost all sense. She loved him with all her might that she couldn't contain it. She loved him with so much passion and fire that the flames were constantly setting her insides ablaze. She loved him so intensely that it drove her mad.

She was scared of how far she fell, that was the truth. All the time that she kept her affair with Malfoy ongoing she was only digging the hole she purposely and blindly jumped into. She had him every day and every night that she could imagine growing old beside him. So many times she'd been wrapped up in his arms that she already called them home. Countless of times he slipped into her that she thought they were perfectly made puzzle pieces. And many were the nights that they laid in her bed in comfortable silence that she believed they could love one another like the moon loved the stars.

But it was all a childish dream. It was all concocted by her desperate heart that her mind was deceived in believing it all could happen one day.

They were going to have a child together and that's all she'd get from him. That was all she would keep. She will love their child with every fiber of her being, but the fantasy would never be true. She realized that despite her broken heart, the choice to cut all ties with him was the right thing she could have done. For both of them.

"Miss Granger?"

At the voice, Hermione brought her attention back to present day. She had just been about to step out of Madam Malkin's with a few bags of baby clothes that she set out to buy that morning. She was the first there, as she intended to be to avoid any onlooker who might see that her concealment charm was hardly covering her bump and that her purchases were undoubtedly for her.

When she focused her eyes she found Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy standing at the entrance of the shop, looking like they were the epitome of luxury. The mere sight of them made anyone feel under dressed, unqualified, and unnerved.

Mrs. Malfoy was a middle-aged woman, but she held herself with so much grace and was polished like a young beauty at her prime. Her icy blue eyes were the only giveaway of her life experience. The coldness in them were underlined with a certain gleam that made it possible to conclude that a slight change of heart could've taken place after the war. Her blonde hair was tied back into a sleek bun, exposing every hard line of her pale face. She was donned in fine, silk, navy-blue robes that seemed almost a shame to not to be able to touch.

Beside her, with his right arm looped by his wife's left, stood Lucius Malfoy. Mister Malfoy might have spent two years imprisoned by Voldemort, three in a cold, lonely cellar in Azkaban, and another three confined to the walls of his manor, but no signs of it showed on him. Pride and arrogance were still etched onto every line of his face. He held his head high, stared anyone who dared directly in the eye with freezing indifference, and his tongue still lashed venom when he saw fit. Despite the intimidation the reformed Death Eater created, his silver eyes could not effectively hide the regret of an ignorant man. Cool as ever, the icy paleness of the man was highlighted by his black robes and his infamous cane with the serpent head that hid his wand.

"Hello," greeted Hermione as her senses went to overload at the sight of them. Unconsciously, she brought her bags to rest in front of her, hiding what the concealment charm was now failing in doing so. Panic fueled her blood when she wondered if the Malfoy heir was not far behind his parents and the dreaded thought of them knowing about her pregnant state also made an appearance into her brain.

She was hoping for an answer for either of her scared musings, but it didn't seem likely that she would be getting one. Both blondes were unfazed by her clear uncomfort and neither looked inclined to ease her from it.

Instead, Narcissa Malfoy asked, "How have you been, Miss Granger? It has been a while since we've last spoken."

To other ears the polite question might sound odd, especially given the twisted history the brunette had with that particular family, but she didn't find it so. As Draco's partner, Hermione had frequented his parents multiple times, like in Ministry functions, charity events, Remembrance balls, and even in his office when they came in for a visit. However, they were not properly introduced until her and Draco's second year of partnership. They had been in St. Mungo's when it happened. It was an awkward moment considering more than just past animosity, but the fact that Hermione had been there to witness Mister and Mrs. Malfoy lose their almighty facade when they practically sobbed at Draco's bedside. (There had been a duel between a gang of criminals and Draco and Hermione, along with two other Aurors; no one would have made it out alive without Hermione's quick thinking and skill). She'd been about to leave his room when she heard Malfoy say, _'thank Granger. Without her brains I'd still be lying in a pool of my own blood. She saved my life tonight.'_

Mister and Mrs. Malfoy would never be straightforward enough as to thank Hermione Granger for anything, and the brunette knew that. She never expected them to do so. Years had gone by and neither of them had once given their gratitude to her or her best friends for keeping Draco out of Azkaban or saving his life during the war, but she'd learned to live with it. The Malfoys would always be humanly challenged.

With that belief firmly held, Hermione was surprised when Narcissa Malfoy kissed both her cheeks in greeting and Lucius Malfoy nodded as politely as he was capable of being from a safe distance. Since then, Hermione has shared various, dismal conversations with Mrs. Malfoy when they ran into each other (Mister Malfoy standing firmly yet idly beside his wife).

"I'm quite well, thank you," the brunette responded with a lie. "And yourselves?"

"Just about the same."

"How was France?" inquired Hermione instantly when she saw Mrs. Malfoy's eyes roam her face and then down to the bags she was firmly clutching onto. "Your son mentioned you were on holiday for a month. It must've been beautiful, I'm sure."

Mister Malfoy eyed her unpleasantly, as if he were annoyed with her question, but his wife almost smirked at it.

"Yes, it was lovely. The current weather in France is just perfect, much like today. Though, Britain is temperamental and who knows how long this sun will last."

Hermione nodded with a dim smile. "I agree. It's why I decided to do some shopping this morning and just enjoy the sun." Hermione really hoped, as ridiculous as it sounded, that neither had the ability to see through her bags and discover her baby purchases. The last people on earth she wanted to explain herself to was them.

"One would assume that being British accustoms you to the dreary weather, but the longing for the sun can be unbearable," Mrs. Malfoy said casually. "I cannot berate Draco's desire for it any longer, I suppose."

At the name, Hermione's heart fluttered and her blood boiled with nostalgia and want. The panic was still there too, but it had been four days since she last saw Malfoy and his beautiful stormy eyes. It'd been four days since he found out about her pregnancy and since she's been avoiding him out of sheer cowardliness.

She missed Draco's presence, his smell, his voice, but she couldn't bring herself to waltz into the Ministry and pretend like nothing happened, or worse, talk about what had occurred. She had just made it out that awful night without having to explain much to Harry and Ron, she was not willing to put herself in that predicament just yet. There was still a lot she needed to sort out.

"Warm weather does seem to make him happy," offered Hermione in spite of herself. Her traitor mind brought forth a memory of Draco glowing like a fallen angel in the rays of the sun one past summer. His alabaster skin had been painted by a light bronze and life swam in his silver gaze that she never thought she'd seen him look more perfect than in that moment.

Narcissa Malfoy gave the brunette a foreign, gentle and apprehensive smile. However, it was Lucius' voice that rang among the three.

"You're quite the understanding person, Miss Granger. No one with a successful partnership as the one you have with our son would be so. I'm sure it'll be a loss to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement when the time comes."

Hermione knitted her brows together in confusion. "I'm afraid I don't understand. What loss?"

Mrs. Malfoy lost her strange smile and a glare took over her blue eyes when she looked to her husband. The man pretended to be oblivious, but a reflection of a sneer appeared on him.

"I'm referring to Draco's choice to relocate to the Caribbean, Miss Granger. Surely he's mentioned it. He leaves in a week."

**X**

Blood. Gushing, wet, foul blood. It was everywhere, absolutely everywhere.

It soaked up her blouse and streamed down the right side of her body. It trickled down her face, pooling out from a corner of her head. It made her curls stick to her neck and the sides of her face. She tasted the iron in her mouth, down her throat and between her teeth. It painted her hands red and hid underneath her nails and it marked the lines of her palms. She was certain it was even in her eyes.

Blood. Gushing, wet, foul blood. It was everywhere, absolutely everywhere.

Ron and her had received a tip-off about their Metamorphmagus murderer when they were having lunch in his office. An Auror trainee ran in to tell them someone had spotted the murderer when he transformed from an old, bony woman to one of the descriptions the department had put out of him. Muggles saw him in an abandoned warehouse and were utterly afraid of this person that shape-shifted into multiple people right in front of their eyes. The Muggles reported him to the authorities and the knowing authorities reported it to the offices of Parliament that handled these oddities. It didn't take too long for an owl to swoop in through the office window of an Auror.

The Auror (Harry) in charge of the Metamorphmagus case was in Russia investigating an alleged sighting of the murderer, making him indisposable and unreachable, so it was up to Aurors Weasley and Granger to be at the head. Hermione wanted to plan the raid, but Ron's bruteness and deep, automatic senses of act-now-think-later called her planning untimely and useless. He decided on heading straight to that abandon warehouse with a group of Aurors to catch him before he had time to flee. Hermione argued against it, she called him daft and reckless, but when that same trainee ran back in to mention that Muggles heard screaming from inside the warehouse, the other gathered Aurors agreed with Ron. A mission with no plan was instigated, one that Hermione called suicidal and Ron dubbed as raw justice.

Getting to the Muggle location and clearing out the street was hardly difficult, it was getting _inside _that proved problematic. Dark magic kept the wards up. Experienced in that particular field, Ron was beyond confident in believing he could bring down the wards with a snap of his fingers. Hermione had to halt him before he blew himself and everyone else up by his arrogance. As she guessed, the dark magic had Russian roots and was custom made to fit Ivan Romanoff's needs. It took her twenty minutes of silence and deep concentration to bring them down and give them enough time to sneak in.

If they thought the wards were going to be the most of their problems, they were wrong. Getting into the warehouse was a maze of unsuspecting, dark magic that shamefully kept the Aurors on their toes. One after another, Hermione had to bring down the fields of magic so they could proceed. What made it worse was the screaming; the deeper they went into the location, the more the painful, haunting screams dug into their ears. It hadn't just been one person screaming for help, screaming in pain, but Hermione had counted at least five different tones (she lost track after that when flashes of her own tortured screaming came forth). It was a means of tormenting the Aurors, of stripping down their strength so that their human nature could make it impossible for them to continue. Two fell, clawing at their ears, unable to move, but the rest gritted their teeth and fought against the devastating sounds to serve justice and capture the lunatic that had created the screams.

When they made it to the doors, Ron decided to do the automatic thing: curse to kill. After being tormented just to get down to the actual warehouse, the Aurors in company seemed just as inclined and enraged as the redhead to do exactly that. Hermione once again called out a plan of attack, but Ron had insisted that she stay behind. He told her he sent a Patronus to Harry, Malfoy, and other Aurors to join the fight, that there was no need for her, but she almost killed _him _instead for suggesting that she was too weak to carry on. They argued for a few seconds before an Auror reminded them of exactly why they were there. Right beside Ron, like the old times of war, the doors flew open and in Hermione marched.

Expectations of what the raid would be like never could quite match what they actually encountered. There were over twenty bodies in the warehouse, but no one with life inhabited it. In two rows of ten, young women dangled upside down from chains in the ceiling. The chains were wrapped around their right ankles, making all the blood from toe to head stream down and rain over the Aurors. All that blood collecting at their heads made the victims' eyes bloodshot—but that was the least appalling thing. The women were all mutilated in one way or another. Some were missing limbs, others the first few layers of their skin, skulls could be seen, and holes in their abdomen could let see missing organs.

Hermione gagged at the sight and smell, but tears of grief fell down her cheeks.

At the distraction of the murdered women, the Aurors made their first mistake in pitying the dead while in the hunt of a madman. From where he hid, the Metamorphmagus cast two spells: one a jet of green that hit an Auror on the shoulder and another black one that dropped the bodies to the ground. It took only a second for all hell to break loose.

The Aurors shot spell after spell, but the demented man blended in with them. As the hunt for Ivan Romanoff continued, the murdered women stood on their feet. Twenty inferi were circling around the Aurors too. Ron shot out a spell and Hermione screamed at him. Ron's spell was meant to slash against one of the inferi but nothing happened; Hermione knew it wouldn't, but she was still appalled that they had to add more damage to the bodies of the victims. They were being controlled by the dark wizard that murdered them in the first place, it was tragic as it was, and Hermione couldn't cope with the added guilt of having to destroy them further.

One inferi ripped off the head of an Auror and the battle continued. There were so many curses being shot out, so many hands grabbing and hitting, yells echoed, the screams of the dead women tore at the eardrums, the maniac laughter of the Metamorphmagus sent fury, and the sound of falling bodies haunted the survivors repeatedly.

Hermione was sure it was a losing battle, but more Aurors entered through the doors of the warehouse. She saw Harry's beloved emerald eyes and Draco's platinum-blonde hair in the new throng of comrades. But they weren't the only ones that joined; Ivan Romanoff brought forth more corpses to do his bidding.

The fight was unbearable. Hermione was caught in a tornado of emotions too strong to keep her focus. When she saw Malfoy, when she saw him fighting back to back with another Auror against three inferi, she couldn't take the thunder of pain that cracked against her heart. She was going to lose him. Maybe in the fight or maybe because of fate.

A rogue curse hit Hermione's body and she fell to her knees.

Blood. Gushing, wet, foul blood. It was everywhere, absolutely everywhere.

The fight ended when another body hit the floor. Harry and Draco stood over someone who resembled one of their Aurors but slowly morphed into a man with dark, grey hair and a scraggly beard. Ivan Romanoff chuckled as the life went out of him and he lost the control of his murdered victims.

Blood. Gushing, wet, foul blood. It was everywhere, absolutely everywhere.

With a groan of pain, Hermione stumbled past the front door of her flat and crashed against the floor of her living room. Her hands left prints of blood on her beige carpet. Nausea from the stench of decaying bodies and rustic blood finally took control and she vomited on the spot. She cried.

With a shaky, bloody and cut hand, Hermione raised her wand and vanished the disgusting mess her insides spewed up. Whatever strength she had in her arms to hold her up gave out, she fell on her stomach and her cheek smacked against the carpet. Another groan. She rolled over to her back.

She couldn't remember much that happened after Ivan Romanoff fell but the feel of her blood draining out of her body. She couldn't recall who lived and who died from her fellow Aurors because she used whatever strength she had left to apparate.

Tears were still falling down her cheeks and joining the blood that was staining every bit of her. She could feel the oxygen in her lungs thin, her throat closing up as it forbade her to breathe. Her chest was heaving, tugging painfully at her heart to pump whatever blood she had left in order to sustain her. But she was tired. Hermione just wanted to close her eyes and drift out. She wanted to sleep and dream a dream that once brought her absolute happiness.

Just as her eyelids were fluttering close, flames ignited emerald in her fireplace and it spat someone out. Through her lashes she recognized the blonde man. She smiled and muttered his name. His hands touched her, he called with desperation for her, but she slipped into the sleep her body was in dire need of.

**X**

She was lying on a familiar hospital bed with Harry as company sitting at the feet of it. She blinked at him and noticed his tired face. His emerald eyes were worried, as they usually were, but she was glad she didn't see his regular guilt in them. There was finally something he couldn't blame himself for. And because there wasn't, he took his role as her brother more literal than ever before.

"I just need to tell you that you're an idiot," he commented as he rubbed her calf gently. "Why didn't you apparate straight to St. Mungo's in the first place, 'Mione? Going to your flat was the dumbest thing you have ever done in your life."

"More than that time I set a dragon loose and made you and Ron ride it?"

He frowned at her smile. "I'm serious, Hermione. You could have died from the blood loss. You know better, come on."

The brunette sighed. "My mind was all over the place, Harry. I couldn't concentrate on a specific location. I was lucky I didn't get splinched, I reckon."

But that was a lie. As her body lost blood and her mind began to shut down, there was one constant thought running through her head. _Draco, Draco, Draco._ She longed for him more than ever. She wanted to be in his arms. She wanted to be in his presence. Her mind could only focus on the one place in the world where that always took place, her home. It was always there, among the walls of her flat, that she lived a beautiful lie and tragic affair with Draco. And that's where she apparated to.

"Johnson is practically driving himself mad thinking he killed you," Harry continued. "He meant to save you from the inferi headed your way, but he instead hit you with the curse. He didn't think that the corpses were capable of deflecting spells or else he would've never done it if there was a possibility that this could happen."

Hermione's memory gave her a brief flash of the incident. She saw the corpses coming to her, but her mind had been too distracted in personal demons to focus on the ones coming for her. She heard Auror Johnson roaring out a warning to move, but she hadn't. She was too late and too slow when Johnson's spell sliced her from shoulder and down to her knee. She fell and blood just started streaming out.

"Of course he didn't," she added after the flash of memory faded. "Handling inferi is not exactly something we learn in training, is it? Our job is to capture lunatics, but no one has ever dared to use that sort of dark magic before. No Auror has ever had the experience with such thing. What little practice _I _had with them was from your own memories, Harry. I read a lot about them, mind you, but I wasn't expecting Romanoff to have bewitched them. It was awful."

Sadly, Harry nodded his head. He was silent for a while, contemplating how such evil could live in a person. With a sigh, he glanced back up at her and he rubbed gentle, calming circles on her calf again as a means of comfort.

"I know," he whispered, and she knew that he felt the same loss and grief for the victims as she had, "but that's all over now. I wish we could have stopped it and fixed it somehow, but...There is no pure or magic powerful enough in this world that can restore the originality of these bodies from the damage Romanoff made of them. But...At least their families have someone to bury now. There's a bit closure in that, isn't there?"

Hermione could only hope there was.

"You need to have someone check you," she scolded in a light tone when her eyes glanced over the dry blood on her best friend's face. "I know Romanoff got you a few times."

He waved it off.

"_Harry_," she called a little more loudly, "go and get looked after. I'm fine. I'm alive. Now get out of here."

The man was about to protest, as it was in his tendency, but the door to Hermione's hospital room opened and Draco Malfoy stood there. His silver gaze went directly to Harry.

"The Head's out there, Potter, and he is with officials from the Russian Ministry. They want to close this case as soon as possible before the fucking reporters of the _Daily Prophet _start nosing about."

Harry glared at the blonde man, clearly having not forgotten about the past altercation the latter had with his best friend. He seemed inclined to tell Malfoy to piss off, but his duty as an Auror was also one Harry valued. So instead of staying with Hermione, Harry stood from the bed and walked over to her. He bent down and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

"After I'm done dealing with this legal rubbish, I'll go check on Ron, but I'll be back in about an hour to keep you company."

"You are not allowed back in unless you have a Healer properly look over you," retorted Hermione. "I mean it."

Harry gave her a smile, one that she was familiar with, before he headed for the door. Hermione didn't see the un-trusting stare that her best friend gave Malfoy. No, the brunette was busy fearing the reaction her body, mind, and heart were about to produce at being alone with the blonde man.

Draco waited for the door to close behind Harry to even look at her. A part of her didn't want his stormy eyes on her, but she missed them too much to complain when he did. She saw fury in them, something so common, but there was also this underlining of fear and regret that startled her. His left palm was clasped into a fist, his jaw clenched as he stared at her.

"Is the baby okay?"

At the sound of his firm, cool voice, Hermione felt chills run up her arms. She didn't think he was going to speak to her, not after what had transpired the last time they were in each others presence, but he had. He had spoken and he asked about their child.

"Yeah," she muttered, refusing to meet his hard gaze. "Angelina...Angelina checked. I just lost blood, but the transfusion and a few potions put everything right. The baby is fine."

His right foot stepped forward and his left followed. "Then," he began, the paleness and coldness of his features were gradually melting by flames of fury, "what the fuck were you thinking, Granger? How could you possibly be so stupid as to go to a raid _pregnant_?!"

Despite his loudness, she replied quietly, "It's not an ideal scenario, Malfoy, but I'm quite capable of taking care of myself. I wasn't going to let anything happen to my child. I took all the precautions before leaving the Ministry. I had it under control."

"That obviously worked out for you," he snarled as he motioned around the hospital room. "Don't you fucking get it, Granger? Unplanned things occur all the bloody time! You could have lost the baby—_you could have died!_"

"That wouldn't have been your problem, anyway," she retorted. She was angry that he thought her careless and stupid. Hermione was well aware that she was pregnant. How could she forget something like that? She couldn't escape it. The child growing and living inside of her was a part of her, had been for more than eight weeks, and she loved it. It was her child, her baby. It was a piece of her, a piece of Draco; she would protect it with her life.

He took another harsh step to her. "Not my problem? That's my child, too, Granger!"

"It doesn't have to be," she replied instantly, no longer whispering. "In fact, you don't have to worry about a single thing. This is my child, Malfoy. I'll raise it. I'll take care of it. _It's mine._ You can go ahead and live your life. You're not trapped with me, you know. Just go! You're going to do so regardless, so why cause any more trouble between us?"

His glare was still painted on his features, but he also showed signs of something too humane for a Malfoy. It was something she thought she'd never see, something she only got glimpses of on the rare occasions that he drifted off to sleep and she briefly watched him before following him into the world of dreams. It was vulnerability.

"You can't keep me from my child, Granger. No matter how unworthy you think I am, that child is still mine, too. You will not take it from me."

"Unworthy?" she repeated with a breath. "I'm not pushing you away, don't you get it? I'm setting you _free_. I'm letting you live your life the way you want it. And I know that I...this child, was not a part of that plan. So just go. Go to the Caribbean, transfer, find some pureblood witch to introduce to your parents, and have children with her. I'll be fine. I don't need you."

"BUT _I _NEED YOU!" If he hadn't yelled it from the pit of his stomach, if she hadn't heard it echo around the walls of the hospital room, if he hadn't gone over to her bedside and gripped her shoulders, if he hadn't been shaking with that same desperation she could never figure out, if he wasn't staring at her like he was dying and she had all the secrets to life, then she would have never believed it came from his mouth.

"For three fucking years, Granger, I've been needing you. Can't you fucking see that? I tried so hard to let you go, to get you out of my head, but I never could. I failed. I fucking failed in letting you go so I decided that I would have you. I took you over and over again that night and I thought that would be enough, but it wasn't. How could it fucking be enough? Look at you. Look at what you fucking do to me!

"I knew it would end it in a disaster. I knew you could never want someone like me, because let's face it, Granger, I'm scum. I'm nothing. I'm worthless. To the world, to you, I'd never be able to have you. I wanted to believe it was just sex, that it could just be carefree sex, but the more we continued, the more I fell for you. The more I wanted to...I love you, Granger, and _fuck _have I tried not to. I try every fucking day not to love you, but I do."

Hermione felt her soul leave her body. In that moment, as he held onto her, too afraid to let go, too afraid that if he did she'd vanish with the air, she finally recognize the desperation in him. It was the same kind she felt whenever she had to see him leave every night they spent together after climbing up to touch heaven. It was the same desperation that drove her insane, that cut her into pieces when she worried about the day it would all end.

"I...I always thought you just wanted sex," she muttered, eyeing him like she couldn't believe he was right there with her. "I thought you were just passing your time with me until...until someone better came along."

"I hoped for that," he responded sincerely. "I never wanted you to mean anything to me, Granger, but..."

"But unplanned things happened all the time," she completed. Tears pooled in her eyes and she felt a sob create itself in the middle of her chest and then she felt it make its way up in order to leave her lips.

He loved her. All the time that she wasted dreading the day that he would leave her, the day that he stopped wanting her body, that their moments would be a thing of the past, and all that time he felt just as she had. Two years of dreaming about him, of missing him, of wanting him, and he wanted the same. Two years of their life wasted in silence.

"I love you, Draco," she confessed through her tears. "I have for two years and I can't...I love you, but I was afraid you could never want me. I was...I broke things off with you because I thought the pregnancy would ruin your life. I...God, I love you and I'm stupid."

"You are," he said, "but so am I."

His hands took a hold of the sides of her face. He bent down on his knees, being eye-level with her so that he could look into those summer eyes and let life come back to him. And as he did, as he felt his heart piece itself back together, as the darkest places inside of him, products of war and years of evil, lit up, he kissed her. And she kissed back.

She grabbed the fabric of his button-up and pulled. She hadn't strength to move him, to bring him to her, but he knew what she wanted. His body hovered over her and her hands wrapped around his middle, holding him so close to her to remind her body just what he felt like. She wanted to memorize his warmth again, the feel of his heartbeat against hers, and taste his lips like they were water and she'd been thirsty for years.

She loved him and he loved her. Finally.


	7. Of Love and Light

**Chapter Seven: **Of Love and Light

She wanted to live in his arms forever and survive off of nothing but the sweet taste of his mouth. She wanted the world to fade away and leave her alone with him until the ends of time. She wanted the sun to go out and the only light in her life be the glowing silver of his gaze. She wanted all sound to vanish so that all the music she could know was the sound of his voice. She wanted all the heat to disappear so that his body could warm every centimeter of her exposed flesh. She wanted all sensations to be overridden with only the kind that he could produce.

He was all that she needed. He was the air in her lungs, the blood in her veins, and the rhythm of her heart. He was everything.

"I love you," she murmured to him in the darkness of her bedroom.

Draco was pressing kisses up her legs, paying homage to every inch of her body with his mouth, when he heard her say it. It made him stop, freeze, but it no longer scared Hermione to think she might hear a rejection. Because she wouldn't, she knew that. Just like she knew he was getting adjusted to hearing her say it and she was adjusting to saying it aloud.

He kissed her left thigh twice before propping himself up on his forearms to stare at her. The grey in his eyes melted and shone like silver liquid in the faint light of the moon coming in through her bedroom window.

"As I do you," he replied. She smiled tenderly at him, but his gaze was now on her uncovered and protruding four-month belly. "And _you_."

His lips touched her stomach and she felt like she was seeing moments of unbelievable magic. Draco Malfoy was not the type of man that showed affection, that gave warmth, or that spoke gently. The world saw him as cold and distant, just as he wanted. And he was. Hermione was well aware that ice still inhabited a part of him. It didn't make him cruel, it made him a consequence. He was a consequence of war and bad choices and ignorant upbringings. She knew he struggled to leave it all behind, she lived it beside him since their partnership as Aurors started, and she knew how far he'd gotten. But that progress had not destroyed his walls; it only created cracks that she hoped one day led to his freedom behind all those barriers so he could enjoy the rays of sun.

He loved her and she was blessed that he did. Never in her life did she imagine she'd count his feelings for her as the best thing that could have happened to her, but it was. And she was lucky for it. He opened his heart and soul to allow only _her _in. That didn't change his attitude in regards to the world, though. So to have his silver eyes melt and glow with adoration when looking at her pregnant belly...It was fascinating.

"Do you know the gender yet?" he asked her as he traced a finger over her stomach.

She shook her head when his gaze found hers again. "No. I never went to the appointment. I thought I might allow myself a surprise."

"You don't like surprises," he knowingly inquired.

"This is different. I didn't want to know because...I didn't want to go alone. I was going to take Theo with me, but he was right when he said that sort of thing should be shared with someone more important."

Draco frowned at the mention of their old classmate.

"Do you want to know?" Hermione questioned. "We can go to Angelina and know tomorrow morning."

He glanced down for a moment to trace another line over her stomach. When he finally looked back up, Hermione saw that he put on the cold, unfeeling mask he wore on an everyday basis when he interacted with others.

"She'll know I'm the father and she'll tell the Weasleys. Are you ready for that?"

Hermione sighed. "Draco," she began quietly, "I've lied to them for two years about you, and I've kept my pregnancy hidden for four months. Trust me, no one is going to care about who the father is. Well, not in the beginning, that is."

He didn't find her last comment reassuring as she hoped he would. "Your friends hate me, Granger. They are not going to take this lightly."

"They don't hate you," she defended. "Harry is wary of you, but he sometimes can't hide how impressed he is over your work and skill as an Auror. He might not be particularly warm to you, Draco, but he does consider your reformation admirable. He just needs to get to know you."

"And the weasel?" he retorted. "What about him?"

It was her turn to frown. "_Ron_ dislikes you, that's obvious, but he'd never interfere in my life."

"Granger, Weasley will drop you in an instant when he knows about us. You can't make excuses for the git, he's just incapable of handling certain situations when things don't go his way."

She snorted. "You're one to talk, Malfoy. You're equally as hardheaded and rash as he is."

"Don't compare me to him," Draco snapped.

She rolled her eyes. "I am going to tell them and we'll handle it accordingly," she continued. "And what about _your _friends? I don't doubt for a second that they're going to lose their heads when they know. Draco Malfoy and Hermione _Muggle-Born_ Granger: a couple and expecting a child. I can already see Parkinson stampeding into your office to tell you how—"

"Pansy knows about us," the blonde cut her off, quite annoyed with her rambling already. Hermione shot her brows up in confusion and a small smirked tugged at his lips. "Not directly, at least, but she suspects something. And, oddly, the bint is never wrong. She's been hounding me about it for ages now. If she's going to be stampeding into my office, it's going to be to gloat about it."

"How does...And Blaise?" Hermione questioned instead, not letting Parkinson's somehow indirect acceptance of her and Draco together to confuse her more.

Draco's smirk grew. "He'll buy me a drink for shagging the Gryffindor Princess and knocking her up, and then he'll buy me another for pissing Potter and Weasley off in the process."

"Slytherins," huffed the brunette. "_Typical_."

He wanted to laugh at her scowl, but instead remained stoic when the following words left his mouth, "I'll have to tell my parents as well."

Instantly, Hermione paled as she felt her heart drop in her chest. She had forgotten about Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy. That was daft of her, but she had. She had been enjoying herself with Draco for two consecutive days that the rest of the world disappeared. But reality was still waiting for her and Draco outside the walls of her bedroom. A reality that they were going to have to confront eventually, something that she was dreading.

"You're worried about them?" Draco asked.

"Of course I'm worried about them! You can't honestly say that I'm the type of girl they wanted you to end up with. Merlin, and I'm carrying your half-blood child. The odds are stacked against me."

"You seem to be under the impression that blood statuses are of importance here."

"Oh, please, Malfoy," scoffed the brunette. "Your dad turns his nose up at me every time he sees me. I wouldn't be surprised if—" She stopped talking when she noticed him glaring at her. Her insides twisted.

"I'm sorry," she breathed, though she wasn't sure on how sincere that apology was. "I know that the history between us was going to be an issue in regards to us as a couple. I just...I sort of just imagined everything would fall into place once I did tell you how I felt. I don't know. I'm sorry."

He surprised her when he said, "it's only an issue if you let it." He pressed a fleeting kiss to the home of their unborn child and then sat up on the mattress of her bed.

Hermione was about to open her mouth to say something but he didn't give her the chance.

"I went four bloody months without you, Granger," he said in a voice and a tone of sincerity that was odd for him, but that was music for her, "and I know how fucking insane and empty I felt without you. It's not something I'm willing to go through again. I'm not going to let anything or anyone get in the way of us. Are you?"

"No," her reply was instant. "Draco, I don't...I've been wishing for two years for you to love me back. It wasn't ideal then as it isn't now for others around us, but I don't care about them. I hope you believe me when I say that. I don't care about the past. I just want to be with you."

He reached for her hands and held on tightly. "Marry me, then."

Shocked didn't begin to scrape the surface of how she felt. Hermione thought her heart stopped beating and that the moon exploded outside of her bedroom window.

She gaped at Draco like he had just sprouted another head. "_What?_"

"Marry me," he repeated unmoved and confident. "We've been unintentionally exclusive to one another for two years and we are having a child together, marriage is the only thing missing."

"No!" she interjected, yanking her hands away. She maneuvered her way off the bed, which looked incredibly ungraceful given that her mass had expanded somewhat as a result of her pregnancy.

He didn't move as he passively watched her gather a clothing item off from the floor.

"Draco, _no_. Just no," she huffed out at him again, looking thoroughly displeased. "Don't you dare propose to me because I'm pregnant. I told you, I don't want you to think you're trapped with me because of this."

His grey eyes rolled with irritation at her direction. "Granger, I _am _trapped. I've been fucking trapped for longer than two years. I love you—you out of all the women on earth. And no one fucking compares. No one is like you. So, yes, I'm trapped because loving you seems to me like forever. And marriage is a promise for eternity."

Hermione damned him as tears welled in her brown eyes.

"I've never been in love before," he spoke again from her bed. "You're my first love, Granger. Fucking twenty-six years old, and you are my first love. What does that say about me and you? I'll tell you," he added before she could even think that he was going to allow her to answer his question. She was smart, the bloody smartest person on earth, but she didn't know absolutely everything. "I don't feel anything for people other than some form of affection. I care about Blaise and Pansy, they are my closest friends, but it's not concrete. It's harsh, but it's instilled when you're taught not to let people in. I care for my parents, I respect them, but in a form I am also detached. Call it a consequence of their bad parenting.

"But you, Granger? I love _you._ I know that because you're the only person in this entire fucking world that matters; the only person I want to see every moment of the day, the only person who can make me think that I could be someone worthwhile, someone worth loving back, and because of that baby. _Our baby_. You're giving me something pure and whole. You're giving me a piece of you and mixing it with a piece of me. You're my purpose, Granger."

The tears that Hermione had been holding in fell, tracing down her cheeks and down her neck and disappearing into her skin. She looked back at Draco glowing in the moonlight, looking breathtakingly handsome, and she couldn't believe they found themselves there. In that very moment, in that very place where she used to dream in her sleep about hearing him say the exact words he just had. It was impossible, a complete twist of fate, but it was all hers. He was all hers. His heart was hers and that was the rarest thing she will ever be gifted with.

Hermione had been in love before, but what she felt then was almost meaningless to what she now felt for Draco. She'd known comfortable love, the kind that becomes mundane after a few passing months, but with him, with Draco her heart was always on fire. Her soul was always singing, her body was always wanting, and her mind was always creating. She couldn't see how she could ever be without that.

"Yes," she said as she walked to him, tears (happy, overjoyed tears) still falling, "I'll marry you."

**X**

When Harry and Ginny Potter received an owl informing them of their friend's impending visit, they were prepared for her arrival with hugs, kisses, tea and biscuits.

They had not seen Hermione since she was let out of St. Mungo's, which happened to be three days prior, and were now over the moon that she was done resting and ready to interact with her friends. It went without saying, of course, that Harry had not been okay with leaving Hermione alone, he needed to make sure that she was safe, that the Ivan Romanoff and inferi raid had not caused her any stress or old nightmares, but the brunette was stubborn. Harry had grown angry that Hermione's choice was to reject their company, but Ginny had rudely reminded him that in the past when Harry wanted to be alone after an awful experience he would practically chew anyone's head off if they bothered him. With that, Harry resigned; not without sending three owls until Hermione finally responded to give evidence of her well-being.

When she finally made contact with them she ambiguously stated that she had something important she needed to discuss with Harry, Ginny and Ron, but no one expected what she actually meant.

"I'm confused," Ron was the first one to speak after five minutes of thick, cringing silence. "I thought we hate Malfoy? In fact, I was under the impression _you _hate Malfoy, 'Mione."

"I don't hate him," muttered the brunette to her ex-boyfriend. "Why would I hate him?"

"Because he's a foul little—"

"I told you, I'm seeing Draco now," Hermione cut Ron off as soon as she felt the blonde man sitting next to her grow rigid. Two years of stripping Malfoy out of his clothes and watching him clothe himself after they were done rendezvousing left Hermione with perfect knowledge of which pocket Draco kept his wand in. Currently, the blonde's right fist found its way dangerously close to his right pocket. "I've _been _seeing him, actually. Two years now."

Ron leaned far away from them with a dumbfounded expression, the wheels in his head turning as to process every single way he could possibly interpret Hermione's blurt without it meaning what she intended it to mean. Harry choked on his tea and his emerald eyes went agape behind his famous glasses. Ginny, who was sat in between her brother and her husband, gasped loudly and was quick to jump onto her feet.

"I knew it!" the new Mrs. Potter exclaimed. "I bloody well knew it! Ha!"

Hermione frowned. "How did you—?"

"Oh, please," snorted Ginny as she grinned largely. She put her hands on her waist, inspecting the couple sitting on the couch across from her with a cheeky expression and some arrogance. "I've known since before you two knew it. Merlin, I've been betting on how long it would take you two to finally say something. Thanks for being right on time, by the way. Pansy owes me _big_."

"Parkinson?!" Hermione looked instantly outraged. "You made a bet with Parkinson about Draco and I?"

The redhead stared calmly back at her friend. "Hermione, everyone bloody knew about you and Malfoy. Two Aurors from your department, Mister Chapman from the cafe around the corner of the Ministry, and Kingsley were actually the ones to start the bet. Pansy and I can't take all the credit for it. Oh! And Luna. Luna knew, too. She's reading tea-leaves now or something and she owled me a year ago to inform me of the happy union."

Everyone was staring at Ginny with incredulous expressions, all except for Draco Malfoy who looked torn between being annoyed with Potter's wife or somewhat entertained by the idea that there were people out there who could actually see him with Granger and not combust.

Harry grabbed Ginny's hand and pulled her back down onto her seat. "Hermione," he called with uncertainty, "for two years? You've been seeing Malfoy for two years? You can't be serious."

"We were actually sleeping together for two years," offered Draco. "It recently got serious when I asked her to marry me."

Hermione buried her face between her palms.

Ron rose from his seat in a flash, and in another moment his wand was out of his pocket and he was pointing it forward. Alike the color of his hair, his face was bright red and his hands shook. His eyes were filled with hate and anger. He was ready to curse the blonde man before him, but Ginny yanked his wand away from his fingers and glared at him.

"Not in my house," she warned her brother. "If you break something, I'll break your neck. It's that simple. _Sit_."

Turning away from giving her own glare to Malfoy, who she knew said what he said simply to piss off her friends, Hermione glanced shyly and slightly determined at Harry. With a deep breath to summon her courage she said, "Yes, I was sleeping with him for two years. And considering that I thought it was only ever going to be just that, I didn't see why there was a need to tell any of you about it." Ginny frowned, but Hermione cut across her before she could protest. "It was my private life and I had every bit of right to keep it to myself. But...But it's much more than that now. And not just because we are getting married."

With everyone's attention on her, Hermione rose to her feet. She undid the buttons of her black coat and slipped it off. Once she handed her coat to Draco for holding, not after taking out her wand from its pocket, she waved it over herself while muttering "_Finite Incantatem,_" to end the charm that hid her secret.

Right before their eyes, Hermione's clothed belly expanded.

Ron's burning anger transformed into massive shock, turning his face pale and his eyes gawked at his friend's change in appearance. Harry, alike Ron, stared back in shock but managed to not fall off his seat like the latter. Ginny's hands went to cover her mouth as she stared with wide eyes, too.

"I'm four months pregnant," she informed them with a tiny voice. "I...I know that I should've...I was wrong in keeping it from you lot, but...but I was wrong about a lot of things. I was scared so I hid it. Not out of shame, not out of regret, but because I didn't want Draco to know. I thought that...Well, I thought what we had was just sex and I didn't want him to stay because I was pregnant...Nothing went accordingly, though. And..._I'm stupid_. I handled this all wrong. I hurt him, I hurt myself, and I lied to you. I'm sorry."

Tears formed in Ginny's eyes as she slowly lowered her palms away from her mouth. She stared at Hermione's lovely belly and she immediately felt immense love for the little creature inside there. Hermione was her sister, she had been for so many years, and it was only fit that Ginny felt adoration for Hermione's unborn child like it was her family, too.

Ginny had been just about to inform Hermione of that when she was cut off by her husband.

"I'm so stupid," Harry uttered, a frown creasing his forehead. He stared at Hermione and Malfoy and thought thoroughly of all the time he'd been in the same room with both of them and missed the clues of their abnormal relationship.

It'd been hate from the very beginning that fueled Hermione and Malfoy, Harry knew that. Hell, everyone knew that. No one in the Auror department wanted to be around the two. They were lethal, ready not just to take on each other but anyone else that crossed their path. Much of that didn't change, not even after Kingsley ordered them to be civil with one another or he'd sack them. But then one day hate turned to indifference and indifference turned to sincere companionship. Harry had never mentioned it to Hermione, there was no need to because he wanted his best friend to accept Malfoy; together they were brilliant for the department and Harry could not deny that there was no one else more capable (aside from himself or Ron) in protecting Hermione during raids than Malfoy.

That companionship he saw between them slowly melted into something more. Comfort and happiness was there; Harry had been too blind to see it when it happened, but it was there. It _had _been there. Hermione started sitting next to Malfoy, not just in the cafeteria of their department, but whenever there were Auror meetings, in the sitting plans of the Remembrance Balls, when they went to lunch, or they stood beside one another when the moment presented itself. Hermione always leaned closer to Malfoy and he to her as well; like their auras were meshing and neither knew where their personal spaces began or ended.

Hermione always knew when Malfoy was about to arrive into their presence, Harry could recall that now, too. Whenever he and Hermione were surrounded by paperwork or files, she was always stressed and angry, focused and stubborn, but a few seconds before Malfoy would come in a smile would ghost over her mouth. Then her eyes would glow like the sun when he marched in; their eyes connecting and something disturbingly intimate would always pass between them.

Then there was the way Malfoy looked at Hermione that Harry completely misjudged. Harry thought Malfoy was getting used to Hermione, thinking of her as a friend and capable partner, but it'd been so much more than that. When he caught Malfoy staring at Hermione it was intense and possessive and adoring. He watched her like every movement she made was his, like every word she said was directed at him, and like every time she breathed it matched his. He was in tune with her. Malfoy stared at Hermione like she was the entire universe caught in the shell of a human body. He looked at Hermione like she was the stars in the sky. Malfoy saw Hermione as something unbelievable and beautiful—just like Harry looked at his beloved Ginny.

"If you knew about them," Harry turned to his wife, "why did you constantly pressure Hermione into going out with Oliver Wood?"

Ginny knitted her brows at the subject Harry brought up. "It's simple logic, actually. I thought that if Malfoy saw Hermione dating then he would man-up and just tell Hermione how he felt. Of course, I should have estimated that Malfoy doesn't work like a normal, jealous bloke, but everything worked out in the end, didn't it?"

Malfoy felt like he could have complimented Potter's wife for her scheme, but he also remembered his dire hate for her every time Granger let it slip that the redhead pressured her to go out with Wood.

While Harry looked conflicted over his wife's meddling, Ron stopped gaping dramatically at Hermione's belly and instead found her brown eyes. He was frowning, but there was also a piece of him that felt saddened about it all. She was his best friend, but he'd lie if he didn't once imagine that _he'd_ be the one she was having her children with.

"So you love him, then?" Ron asked through his teeth.

Hermione glanced at the blonde man still on his seat, his grey eyes hardened and directed at her best friends, but when he felt her stare he looked back at her and they softened for a moment. She smiled gently before turning back to Ron.

"I do," she confidently responded, "I love him with all my heart."

"But he doesn't deserve you, 'Mione," Ron grunted back. "He'll never be good enough to have you."

"_Ronald—_"

The redhead raised a hand to silence Hermione's would-be retort. "But no one will ever deserve you in my book. That's the truth. Not him, not me, not anyone. I don't think there's anyone in the world that's worthy of having your heart."

Hermione bit her bottom lip for a moment. "But Draco _is _worth it, Ronald" she murmured, "and he has my heart. I love him and I think I always will."

Ron pressed his lips into a line and his palms fisted at his side. He gave her a nod and looked away from her. He wasn't in love with Hermione, not fully at least, but Ron stood beside his statement. It was his belief. There was no man on the surface of their world that could ever be worthy of having her. He didn't even come close, either; Ron was stubborn, an idiot, and insensitive. Malfoy was worse. There was no way in hell that he could ever accept the former Slytherin in having the girl that Ron once loved with his entire soul, not when Malfoy's insides were drenched in black.

"Hermione is our family, Malfoy," Harry's voice murdered the tensed silence that followed after Hermione and Ron's exchange. "She is everything to us. But Hermione will always do what she wants to do, none of us are stupid enough to stop her, nor do we believe we have it in ourselves to do so."

Harry rose from his seat, his eyes silently challenging Malfoy to do so, too. And the blond did. "But I will ask you to promise that you will make her happy and keep her safe no matter what. And if you were to break that vow, I'd like to remind you that I _can _get away with murder. It's one of the many perks of being the Chosen One."

Draco wanted to snort at that, because he knew that despite it all a part of Potter was high on a fucking hippogriff that thought him untouchable, but he couldn't ignore the obvious. Potter and the Weasleys were Hermione's only family. She loved them. If he wanted to be with her he had to be cordial with them.

"I won't hurt her," is what Draco said in order to bring on a silent pact of civility between him and Hermione's family.

Harry stretched his hand out to Malfoy. Hermione, Ginny and Ron carefully watched and waited for what came next. Four seconds passed and a deflation of hope began to take over the brunette before she saw Draco's pale hand extend and shake her best friend's in a moment of mutual acceptance.

**X**

The nervousness in the majestic sitting room was so thick that Samson the house-elf could see it wrap around the walls and trap his masters inside of it. Master Draco brought a girl to the manor who was responsible for such anxiety. She was very pretty, the woman; the young miss' name was Hermione, as she insisted to be called when she was introduced to Samson, but the house-elf simply could not offend the young woman with such lack of tact. Samson thought her strange yet compelling, but not because of her odd behavior, but by the light that she was. Samson could never think bad about his masters, he respected and loved his masters, but if he could allow himself the thought, Samson knew his masters had no light so he was overwhelmed with the glow of Miss Hermione.

A lot of things changed after the war in Malfoy Manor, but the darkness that lived in every wall and every tile from the Dark Lord's long visit never vanished. Samson and the other house-elves scrubbed and scrubbed until their knees bled and their hands peeled, but the darkness that once plagued the life of Samson's masters continued to stay. They wanted to change, Master Lucius and Mistress Narcissa, but so much damage had been done to rid them of their evil deeds. Master Lucius had spent three years in Azkaban paying for his mistakes, but he came back to a house with charred reminders that would never pardon him of his past doings. Mistress Narcissa tried to change the story of her beautiful manor, but no matter the change in decor, the open curtains, the flowers, or scented candles, the manor still reeked of murder and demons. Mistress Narcissa wandered the halls of her home unable to sleep during the lonely, haunted nights when Master Lucius was in prison and young Master Draco stayed away from the manor.

It remained that way for years. It saddened Samson's heart to see the ghosts of his masters' pasts still looming behind them, echoing the cries and screams of the people that died in their presence despite their efforts to leave it all behind them. With heavy regret, Samson thought that his masters and their manor were damned for all eternity to be plagued by darkness and old sins.

Then Master Draco brings in the young, pretty Miss Hermione and Samson saw the walls of the Malfoy Manor transform right before his eyes. When the couple came in through the Floo in the sitting room, Samson saw the shadows of grey slowly become memories and allow the taupe and beige paint of the walls to bloom to life and give out their intended warmth. Samson saw the morning light burst right in through the windows of the sitting room, glowing with brilliancy for the first time in ages as it touched every piece of furniture. The house-elf saw the crystal in the room glitter, the paintings become valuable, the fireplace give heat, and even the garden outside the window become vibrant green.

Miss Hermione Granger had brought life to Malfoy Manor. Samson wished the young miss could see it instead of nervously fiddling with her fingers as Master Draco spoke to his parents from across their seat on a rich brown sofa.

"Samson," called Mister Malfoy from his seat, "give me a glass of scotch."

Narcissa turned to her husband, a frown upon her classic features. "It is nine in the morning, Lucius. It's a bit early for liquor, isn't it?"

Lucius took the thick glass his house-elf had immediately handed to him. "It's never too early to drink when Draco has something to say."

Before her husband could attach his lips to the glass, Narcissa firmly took it from him without spilling the amber liquid and managing to glare with her own share of intimidating power. In that stare alone, the woman said all she needed in order for Lucius to pay attention to their son and his guest.

Narcissa asked her son to continue following the altercation.

Not without giving his father a glare of his own, Draco cleared his throat and directed his eyes at the elder witch and wizard before him with determination. "Hermione and I have been seeing each other for two years," he informed smoothly, "and certain occurrences have recently developed that now allows me to reveal this relationship to you."

If Hermione wasn't so plagued by anxiety she would have laughed at Draco's dodge in telling his parents that their relationship for two years had in fact been nothing but passionate sex with hidden wishes of love. Malfoy was so arrogant as to reveal that detail to her friends, but the git became modest in front of his proper, judging parents (_typical_).

"Two years is quite a long time," Narcissa carefully commented as she kept eye-contact with her son. "Pansy and Mrs. Potter estimated at least a few months."

Draco frowned. "Why are you talking to Pansy and Ginny Potter about me, Mother?"

"Draco," Narcissa's tone matched the mirth of her blue eyes, "I knew you were in love with someone before you realized it yourself. The times you would join us at the manor I saw you unstable, pensive, and sometimes unknowingly smiling to yourself. Nothing before has altered your behavior in such way that it was easy to assume that it was a matter of the heart. And since you won't talk to me about your personal affairs, I figured Pansy knew. Of course, you would never tell her directly, but I can always count on Pansy to be observant and fill me in.

"Then there's the matter of these past couple of weeks," Mrs. Malfoy continued, not allowing her son to further grow angry at her asking Pansy about him. "You were sad, Draco. I saw it in your eyes. You lost something. And when Lucius and I ran into Miss Granger a few days ago, she had the same broken-hearted expression. Everything tied together after that."

Hermione didn't know whether she should be in awe that someone like Narcissa Malfoy was capable of identifying such human emotions, especially on other people that weren't important to her. Besides that, the brunette felt somewhat ashamed that Mrs. Malfoy had noticed Draco's mood dampen and now knew that it was because of her. She would not be able to look the woman in the eye if she knew that not only had Hermione kept her pregnancy hidden from Draco, but that she lied about having a romantic relationship with as well Theodore Nott to push him away.

"Things are different between Hermione and I," Draco spoke again, unmoved by the evidence of his sadness his mother had gathered, "and I hope that our union will not be a problem for you."

Lucius stood from his seat and walked himself to the mahogany cabinet that kept his finest bottles of scotch. "You are not giving us an option, are you, Draco?" The question was redundant, so instead the others watched as the blonde wizard grabbed a new glass and poured himself liquor at a distance from his wife.

Mister Malfoy downed the drink in one swing before turning back to face the people sitting down. "Out of all the women to fall for, Draco, you fall for _her_? Do you have any idea what you are getting yourself into? No," he continued without a break, "of course you don't. If you would've seen the flaws of your little union you would have _never _gone for her. You were better off matched with someone like Astoria Greengrass."

"I don't love Astoria Greengrass," hissed Draco as he stood from his seat. He felt Hermione cringe on hers, but that barely contained him from brutally lashing out.

"Love has nothing to do with it," Lucius passively commented as he poured himself another drink. "It's not about sentiment, Draco, it's about _match_. You've damned yourself in believing that she is anywhere near what you are."

Hermione raised a hand to grasp Draco's, but she was late in restraining him for the latter was already striding furiously towards his father.

Draco slammed the cabinet doors closed. "I don't give a fuck about match or your fucking beliefs of blood status! Hermione is the woman I love and there's nothing anyone can do to change that!"

"It's not about her being a Muggle-Born, Draco," growled Lucius, his silver eyes narrowing dangerously to match the ones of his son. "After everything this family has been through, after the years I've served in prison, do you think I care about her blood status? To hell with her blood or anyone elses. What I care for is the way people look at _you_.

"You've built a brilliant career as an extraordinary Auror, but I've been there to watch and hear the whispers of mistrust this world still has for you, Draco. You can catch all the murderers in this country and redeem yourself over and over again, but_ they don't care_. You are a Death Eater. You will always be a Death Eater to them. And falling for Miss Granger is not going to make your life easier, do you understand me? They will tear you apart once this gets out."  
Draco's lips pressed tightly into a line as his father's words painfully entered his eardrums. His father had spoken aloud the fear Draco had about his relationship with Hermione from the very beginning. She was perfection, all that was good, and he would never come close to being a shadow of that. Everyone knew it.

"I will always be a Death Eater because of you." As a consequence of bringing out his fears, Draco retaliated against his father to bring out his own.  
"Stop it. Stop it right now." Hermione stood from her seat, gaping at the young and old Malfoy men with outrage. She knew they had their own share of problems to fix, that there would always be a grudge held against Mister Malfoy from Draco's part and that Mister Malfoy would always carry the cross of his sins and what it had cost his son, but they were family. And Hermione would never watch idly by as a family fell apart; especially not one Draco wanted her to marry into.

She marched to the middle of the two blonde men, alternating between giving a firm stare at both so they could see just how appalled she was at their behavior. When she settled on Lucius Malfoy she declared, "I don't care how the world sees Draco, Mister Malfoy. I didn't fall in love with him based on what people believe; I fell in love with your son based on everything he is when he is with me. The past cannot be erased, I know that. I carry my scars and my memories just as all of you do, but I forgave him long ago. That's what allowed me to see him as the man that he is now. And you cannot keep him hostage in a cage of your regrets, Mister Malfoy.

"I am not perfect or untouchable, nor am I easily influenced by the thoughts of others. I love Draco and he makes me happy. Being in his arms, simple conversation, our petty arguments—everything about him gives me bliss. And I want to be with him for the rest of my life. I want to raise our child together and start a family based on everything that we are together. If people are unwilling to see that, then _they _are not worthy of being in my life."

Hermione's hands tenderly rested on her belly as her Gryffindor bravery allowed her to keep direct eye-contact with Lucius Malfoy. She said everything she had with honesty, the words coming from inside her chest where her heart was claimed and marked with Draco's name. She told Draco before that she didn't care about the past, and now she truthfully stated it to his father. What they had, the love that had connected them, that life that they created, was founded by the people Hermione and Draco were now.

As the brunette continued to hold her stance with earnest, she failed to register that she let slip the one thing Draco had yet inform his parents about. Their baby. And now Narcissa was standing by the huddle alongside her husband, and both were eyeing the young witch with indescribable expressions.

With a deep breath that granted him a form of serenity, Draco put an arm around Hermione's waist as she used wandless magic to end the concealment charm she previously cast on herself.

"She's four months pregnant," Draco provided, "and I would like it if both of you were there to be in its life."

Narcissa's hands shook as she stretched them towards her son. There was a glimmer of emotion in her blue gaze, but she didn't allow anyone to see the tears that threatened to fall as she marched forward to bring her son into a foreign embrace.

As the usually firm and poised woman drowned in sentiment, Hermione did the equivalent of what Draco had done for her involving her friends. She stepped close to Mister Malfoy and reached for one of his frozen hands. He eyed her skeptically, unmoving, tormented, conflicted, and she watched as his surprise turned to utter amazement when she rested his right hand on her clothed, pregnant belly.

"The baby will need grandparents," Hermione said. "Grandparents that will love and encourage and that can see the world as a beautiful place rather than one drenched in memories of war."

* * *

**AN: The epilogue is coming up and then that's it! I hope you all have enjoyed it. And thanks so much for your lovely reviews and words of encouragement; they've meant so much to me. (:  
**


	8. Finding Bliss

**Chapter Eight:** Finding Bliss**  
**

"I'm fat."

Stomping out of the single bedroom of her flat, Hermione crossed her arms and felt them rest over her enormous belly. She was wearing a frown that could send a random stranger (or Ron) running for their lives, but the three women casually sitting in her living room seemed unfazed by her anger.

Ginny let out an exasperated huff. "Sweetheart, you are not fat."

"Then why doesn't this fit?!" Hermione threw a flower dress at the redhead. "Nothing in that bloody closet fits! I'm a whale!"

"You are not a whale, Hermione," assured Ginny with a monotone. It was the same argument she already had with the brunette five times that week. It was tiresome, but Ginny knew that she had to be sensitive to her friend's feelings no matter how unstable and illogical they were.

Though it was bluntly obvious that Ginny Potter was being sensitive about the issue, Pansy Parkinson had no desire or obligation to do so. She understood that Hermione was packed with extra hormones and felt more than ready to pop, but Pansy had never tolerated whiny females before and she wasn't about to let Hermione use her pregnancy as justification.

The dark-haired witch rolled her eyes as she stood from her seat, yanking the dress from Ginny's hands. "Granger," Pansy began as she inspected the garment, "this dress would be perfect for a day strolling through Diagon Alley if it was eight months prior. But seeing as you are currently very pregnant, you need maternity clothes. I don't know what you were thinking trying to fit into this, it's impossible."

"Not that you'll never fit into it again," interjected Ginny as she too stood and took back the dress from Parkinson. She glared at the dark-haired witch before smiling gently at Hermione. "You will after you give birth and you go back to your regular size. For now, however, you need to put on something suited for your pregnant state."

Hermione's bottom lip trembled as she eyed the dress in Ginny's hand. It was her favorite item to wear when the weather was particularly beautiful throughout Britain and now she couldn't. She would have to wait a year for summer to come back again so she could sport it. But it wasn't just about the dress. Merlin, Hermione wasn't too full of herself to not know that she needed to slip into her maternity clothes (which did have beautiful dresses that flattered her belly).

In reality, she was being a nuisance due to a plague of haunting thoughts.

"I feel so alone," muttered Hermione to her guests. Tears appeared in her eyes and her fingers started to fiddle together as a nervous tick. "I miss my parents," she confessed.

Ginny's annoyance deflated. "Oh, 'Mione."

The redhead attempted to cross distance to put her arms around the brunette but Hermione raised her hand to halt her. "It's fine," she sniffed. "It's just...As a little girl I never imagined getting married and having a baby without my parents. Who does? But now my child will never know them. My child will never know how kind their grandparents were, how intelligent, how Mum was a little ditzy, or how Dad was a little grumpy, and how much they loved each other..."

"I did," with a clearing of her throat and a raise to her chin, Pansy said, "I imagined getting married and having children without my parents. They were awful; absolutely the worst people imaginable. In fact, I knew I never wanted to get married and have children in fears that I'd turn out like them. Of course, as a pureblood girl you're trained and brought up to be someone's wife, but I hoped...Oh, I hoped that it never came to be. And it didn't. And I'm blessed.

"I'm sorry for your loss, Granger. They sound like amazing people. If anyone deserves that comfort, it's you," Pansy finished.

Hermione's left hand went to wipe at her cheek. She wasn't exactly comforted by Parkinson's words, but she felt a great deal of pain slowly let go of her heart. She needed to voice her sadness to someone, that grief she still carried, but what could anyone say? She knew no one could give her the words that would make everything better. Her parents were dead. There was no bringing them back.

"Your child will know your parents." In the silence that spread through Hermione's living room, the one elder woman who sat poised on an armchair, a book on her lap, dug her blue eyes into Hermione's brown ones.

Narcissa Malfoy closed the book and elegantly rested her hands over the cover. She continued to stare, flat and narrowed, but her mind contemplated many things. When she finally decided that she needed to give something back to the woman who was giving her a grandchild, who made her only son happy, she continued her previous statement.

"Through you, Hermione, your child will know your parents. If they truly were all that you say, your child will see that within you. You are intelligent, kind, and full of love. And when that child asks you why they have a mother like you, why you are renowned throughout our world for such character, you shall reveal to them that it was all your parents' doing.

"And you shall raise your child to be exactly like you, with a pure heart alike yours. And when people praise your parental skills and the manner of your child, you will know that it was all because of your parents. Physically they might not be in the living world, Hermione, but memory lives on forever. So, yes, your child will know of their grandparents."

Pansy furrowed her brows, her dark eyes highlighting grand confusion and alarm. She'd know Mrs. Malfoy basically all her life, not once had she ever heard the woman speak kind words; nor did she know the woman was capable of them. If there was ever affection, gentleness, shown by Mrs. Malfoy, it was only towards her son. So to hear the words Narcissa had just spoken, directed at another person that she once deemed lower than dirt, was extraordinary.

Thinking the same thing, Hermione could only gape back. Her jaw wasn't hung open like Ginny's, but it was about to. The glimmer of fondness in Mrs. Malfoy's crystal-blue gaze was overwhelming just like the sincerity that displayed on her facial features. Used to seeing the woman void of emotion, Hermione was momentarily baffled and unable to form a coherent response.

Thankfully, the flames of her fireplace roared from their low, red crackling into giant, sparkled emerald flames. The moment between Hermione and Mrs. Malfoy was cut short when three men made their way out; dusting their clothes from the soot.

Hermione sensed Draco before she saw him.

"I thought you would be gone by the time we arrived," Draco said to his fiancee as he kissed her temple before heading off to properly greet his mother.

"We were supposed to leave an hour ago, but Granger is struggling to dress herself," informed Pansy as she stood impatiently by Theodore Nott and Blaise Zabini. "She thinks she's fat."

_"Again?"_ groaned Theodore. He too had suffered that conversation with the brunette plenty of times before.

Hermione frowned at the former Slytherins. "I don't think I am. I know it. Look at this stomach. This child wants to make my womb into a mansion."

"Ah, so it is a Malfoy," chided Harry mockingly.

As his old classmates laughed, Draco shot a glare at the Chosen One before glancing at the mother of his child. "Granger, you're eight months pregnant. You only feel that way because you're close to giving birth. I promise you, you still look beautiful and radiant. Go dress now, or we won't get anything done at this rate."

"Well of course _you _find me appealing," retorted the brunette, "your pride as a man is overflowing because I'm currently lugging about the product of your fertility."

Harry's face scrunched up in disgust, but it was Theo who said,"I didn't need to hear that."

It was Draco's turn to smirk.

"I'll go dress now," declared Hermione as to not let old rivalry get between her best friend and his old nemesis. She took her dress from Ginny and, with her head held high with honor, she marched down the hall and to her bedroom.

Rolling her eyes as Ginny put her arms around her husband, placing her head on the crook of his neck, allowing him to hug her back after pressing a tender kiss on her head, Pansy called for their attention.

"What happened to Weasley?"

"He didn't show," Harry quipped with annoyance that was not directed at the dark-haired witch. "We waited for him for twenty minutes, but I knew he wasn't going to show up. We had to call in Nott to help."

Theodore bowed for dramatics. "It's not like I was about to go on a date with my girlfriend or anything, either," he added sarcastically. "It's always a pleasure filling in for Weasley."

"Seems like Weasley has a habit of disappearing when his friends need him the most," contributed Blaise in a bored tone. The glint to his indigo-colored eyes contradicted his voice, they held mischief. "Even I showed up to help Draco and Granger move to their new, muggle home."

Mister and Mrs. Potter looked at one another before glancing over at the dark-skinned man. They wanted to be angry at him, tell him to piss off (Ginny wanted to hex him as she had once in Hogwarts), but they couldn't say he was speaking lies. Out of all people, Blaise Zabini had been more accepting of Hermione and Malfoy's union than Hermione's own best friend.

Whereas Ron had been dodging Hermione and Malfoy for weeks, Zabini had latched on. The former Slytherin was kind to the brunette, much to the surprise of Draco, Pansy, and his girlfriend Daphne. There was always a coolness to Zabini that everyone was aware of, he hardly was ever seen being indifferent, even to Daphne, but to his friend's new fiancee he was friendly. He provoked her with foul comments, as it was in his nature, but there was fondness in their banter. (Maybe there was a closer friendship between Draco and Blaise that neither cared to admit; which would explain why Blaise was accepting of the woman his best friend loved).

"Your father will meet us for dinner later, correct?" Narcissa stood smoothly from her armchair, not once wrinkling her fine robes.

Before Draco could respond to his mother, his fiancee appeared from the hall. She was still in her lilac bathrobe, no longer holding her floral dress, but a new, polka-dot one. With wide eyes she looked at Draco.

"Hermione," groaned Ginny, "what is wrong with this dress? We need to get going so the boys can pack up your flat and you can—"

"My water broke," squeaked Hermione, fear now coming full-blown onto her face. She swallowed a knot that was straining her throat. "My water broke," she repeated in a terrified, small whisper, "and I'm eight months pregnant. _Help_."

**X**

For the first time in her life, fear interfered with Hermione Granger's intelligence. Dread had submerged her body when she felt a pain shoot up her spine, take hold of her womb, and make fluid seep down her thighs. She crept out of her bedroom holding her belly, absolutely terrified. She was only eight months pregnant, the baby wasn't suppose to arrive that early. Her eyes were filled with tears as she gaped helplessly at her fiancee, desperate for his aid and knowledge because she'd been about to lose her mind. Luckily, Draco reacted fast. He took her into the Floo and straight to St. Mungo's; all the while Hermione thought the worst and cried. It took Angelina's calm smile and her words of, _'Hermione, babies are sometimes born premature. You know this. It's going to be okay,'_ for her brain function to return.

The delivery was just as painful as she anticipated. Hermione wanted to chew off Draco's head when he was holding her hand tightly, face void of all emotions, with his monotone telling her to relax. She yelled at him to go to hell, much to Ginny's amusement as she snickered on her other raced down Hermione's cheeks and foul curse words left her mouth. When Angelina's trainee marched in, Hermione vowed to take his life for taking ages to bring her a potion that would ease the contractions. When Hermione was finally ready to push, Angelina sent Ginny out and let Draco stay.

_'I'm afraid,'_ Malfoy had whispered to her as she summoned all the force in the world to push out the child she'd been housing in her womb. _'Hermione, I'm damned. I've always been damned. I cannot be a father. What if the Weasel is right? What if I am unworthy of having you?' _

A scream rippled out of Hermione's mouth. She turned to glare at the blonde man beside her. The sweat around her forehead, the redness of her face, and her tangled hair only served to emphasize her frustration. _'Shut up, shut up, shut up,' _she had screeched. _'You're a wonderful man, Malfoy. And you're going to be a great father. I'm afraid too—'_ a scream, a push, another scream, _'but I know we'll do fine because we love our child. That's what matters.'_

_'The things I've done—'_

A scream followed another strong push. '_Who the hell cares?! Your past is not going to raise this kid!' _Hermione turned to face Draco once more._ 'Are you in this or not?!'_

A cry pierced the tension of the hospital room, not allowing Draco a response. Angelina stood to her full height: in her arms was a newborn child. The child cried once more as Angelina's trainee rushed over with a yellow blanket and wrapped it. Draco and Hermione watched with complete focus as Healer Weasley did all the protocols required to ensure the baby's health.

_'Congratulations,' _Angelina had murmured gently, a teary smile on her face as she carefully handed the wrapped newborn to the mother. _'It's a beautiful, healthy baby boy.'_

Hermione cradled her son in her arms as tenderly as she could manage. She was shaking with happiness. She was crying again, but this time out of sheer love. He was absolutely breathtaking.

_'I'll always stay,'_ Draco had muttered as he stared at his son in awe. His gaze studied every little feature of the newborn and when the baby opened his eyes for the first time to look at his parents Hermione and Draco recognized the silver immediately in them.

_'We're a family,'_ the blonde added as he sunk on the mattress by Hermione's side. He put an arm around her shoulders and captured her lips in a quick kiss before they both continued to fawn over their new son.

It truly was something, in Hermione's opinion, how quickly their lives changed. In that moment, in the instant that Draco saw the face of their newborn son, his fears were replaced with a grand sense of duty, of love, of caring. Hermione's love for Draco intensified by a tenfold, but she also felt a completeness she hadn't known she was longing for until she cradled her baby in her arms. And together, she and Draco were about to embark on the greatest adventure.

Former Slytherin Prince and Gryffindor Princess married not long after their little Scorpius was born. Hermione had not minded waiting until their son was a little older, but Draco insisted that by law she was bound to him and he to her.

The wedding had been a small affair (upon Hermione's rejection of Narcissa's giant, social celebration idea) that was held in the gardens of Malfoy Manor. Everything was simple, down to the decorations and the color scheme. It was all white with the occasional hint of emerald. Draco had Blaise be his best man, Goyle and Theo as groomsmen, and little Teddy Lupin as the ringbearer. Ginny was Hermione's maid of honor, Pansy and Luna were her bridesmaids, and Harry was to walk her down the aisle.

'_You look beautiful,'_ Harry proudly proclaimed to the bride as he found her jittering with nerves by the doors that led to the gardens. _'I'm so very happy for you, Hermione.'_

Hermione's brown eyes glistened with emotion. She gave her best friend a loving smile to show her gratitude, and her intent had been to voice it, but instead she found a knot in her throat. Her right hand went to her heart and she took a deep breath.

'_It means a lot to me, Harry,'_ she said in a tiny voice. _'Thank you for not abandoning me.'_

A frown had creased Harry's forehead. _'I gave Ron your invitation,'_ he replied with shame, as if their friend's absence was his fault. _'I honestly thought he would show. Especially since all the Weasleys are here.'_

Hermione exhaled loudly as she continued to keep her unsettling emotions at bay. She didn't want to ruin her makeup, not since Ginny threatened to butcher her if she smudged it before the ceremony was done. _'I thought he would show too. I wanted him to be here, Harry. It's been six months since I've seen him. He hasn't even met Scorpius yet.'_

Harry opened his mouth to tell her that Ron had met her son already. There was a night when Ginny volunteered to babysit so Hermione and Malfoy could go out on a date (and because Ginny wanted the practice, seeing as the redhead was currently five months pregnant herself) and Ron had unexpectedly shown up. He'd taken a look at the little boy with silver eyes and curly blonde hair and sighed; Harry nor Ginny said anything as Ron picked up Scorpius and gave him a hug. For an hour Ron played with the baby before having to head for his date with a witch he'd been keeping a secret.

'_I thought he could be happy for me,' confessed Hermione, 'and it breaks my heart to know that he can't.'_

'_Ron loves you, Hermione, you know that. He can just be a little—'_

'_I'm a git. _That's_ the truth.' _Interrupting Hermione and Harry, the remaining member of the Golden Trio turned the corner to make his appearance. Ron was dressed in a black suit, hands in his pockets, red hair slicked back appropriately, and a remorseful look upon his freckled features.

'_I'm a proper arsehole,' _the redhead continued, _'and a stubborn idiot. I'm too prideful, as well. I got held up on past grudges that I refused to see that Malfoy had changed. I am comfortable with hating him, you know. But now the little ferret loves you and he's the father to your child. And...well, he's a well enough bloke if he can make you as happy as you are, 'Mione. And I'm sorry if I've been the taint to your picture-perfect life. I just don't know how to ask for forgiveness.'_

Hermione wanted to smack him. Hermione wanted to smack Ron across the face and beat the idiot out of him, but she contained herself from doing so. Anger bubbled her blood, but her heart was also pumping love for her redhead best friend. Regardless of how aggravating he could be, there was almost nothing she would never forgive him for.

'_You know how to come back,'_ she said to him, _'no matter how long it takes.'_

Ron's mouth outstretched into a smile. _'I love you, 'Mione. I swear it.'_

'_I know.' She gave him a tiny smile in return. 'Now, walk me down the aisle with Harry. I'm getting married in two minutes.'_

Though Hermione had upset her soon-to-be mother-in-law for declining her offer of an extravagant wedding, the brunette was in complete awe as she walked down the aisle that fateful day with Harry and Ron on her sides and was surrounded by Narcissa's efforts. The weather had agreed to behave itself for the wedding; the sky was a beautiful, vibrant blue with the perfect amount of clouds decorating the canvas, and the sun was present to send rays of warmth down to the guests. The natural assortment of flowers stood out throughout the garden with its beautiful pinks, reds, oranges, yellows, and purples. The greenery was intensified. White rose petals littered the the runway of the aisle, separating two sections of white chairs that her guests were sitting on as they watched her approach the front.

There was an arch composed of rustic branches meshed with white roses that hung over the Minister of Magic (who personally offered to perform the bonding ceremony). But Hermione hardly paid attention to her old friend Kingsley Shacklebolt. Hermione only had eyes for the blonde man waiting impatiently and nervously at the end of the aisle.

She fell in love all over again with Draco that moment. There was something incredibly breathtaking about the way he glowed with the light of the sun. It washed away old memories and versions of him. In that moment all she could see was his light. She could only see how his light made the platinum color of his hair whiter, ethereal, how the metal in his eyes melted to precious, unique silver, and the way his soul lit up inside of him, making his skin bright and inviting. Her heart pounded inside her chest, fluttering its wings like a dove taking off full speed, demanding its owner.

About the bonding ceremony, Hermione could only recall Draco: his presence, his fingers laced through hers, his minty smell, his eyes, and his voice. The entire world disappeared and left only him and her. So when she's asked what was the most memorable moment of the wedding, she says it was his vows:

'_I don't know what to say. I've told you thousands of times how much I adore you. But I suppose if I have to tell you one more time, in this very moment, then I love you. But I love you every second of every day. Just like I loved you yesterday, today, and how I will love you tomorrow. I will always love you tomorrow. Some days I'm going aggravate you, and you're definitely going to aggravate me, but I'll still love you then. You've changed my life, Hermione. Before you I was lost in my own nightmares, but you've made them all go away now. You brought me hope. You brought beautiful, valuable, and more precious things into my life than all the contents inside my vaults at Gringotts. And I'm lucky and rich because of that. I'm honored to have you beside me. And I'll spend the rest of my life feeling that way, every second and every hour. I love you.'_

The party after the ceremony had been something else. If her union with Draco wasn't evidence of the ability to overcome past hatred, then the celebration of their wedding certainly would convince anyone. All that was needed was good music, love in the air, and flutes of champagne.

Hermione wanted to spend every second attached to Draco's hand, but her new mother-in-law reminded her of the pleasantries she needed to exchange with the guests of the night. So as Hermione went around smiling, greeting, chatting, hugging, and laughing with her friends she was a witness on how things can change. Luna, who was married to Neville, danced with Gregory Goyle like there was no care in the world; Neville talked with Marcus Flint (who was also, surprisingly, a Herbologist); a pregnant Ginny sat next to a less pregnant Daphne, both sharing a plate of cake; Harry leaned against a wall talking quietly with Draco, both avoiding the crowd; a drunk Blaise laughed loudly with George Weasley; Ron and Pansy danced under the light of the moon (a little too closely); and Mrs. Weasley and Narcissa, accompanied by Andromeda Tonks and Teddy Lupin, watched over little Scorpius (the three month old baby made a quick appearance for the night). However, the strangest act of the night occurred when Mister Malfoy introduced her to his powerful, pureblood acquaintances.

_'I'm sure it is quite the honor for you, dear,'_ an old man had said to Hermione, no intention of malice in his voice, but the statement was worded completely wrong. _'The Malfoys are an important family. You are in no greater care than with them.'_

Hermione had gone rigid. A part of her remembered all the horrible things that family had put her through. The flash of memories lasted less than a second,though; for she was now a Malfoy by the twists of fate and she wouldn't have it any other way.

_'I'd say the Malfoys are in no greater care than at the hands of my daughter-in-law,'_ Lucius Malfoy interjected in his low, firm voice before the brunette at his side could say anything to his familiar. _'The honor is ours to have her a part of our family. I don't doubt that she and Draco will continue to uphold this family for years to come by their intelligence, their capability, and their courage. I am confident their children, my grandchildren, will follow.'_ He raised a glass of firewhiskey. _'Here's to the future of the Malfoys.'_

That night was six years ago, but Hermione still remembered it as the moment in time that forever changed the course of her life.

She smiled at the thought as she reached her destination: the open door of her son's bedroom. Inside soft voices and laughter were heard. She stood at the entrance and kept her silence in order to spy without being detected.

Draco, with his back turned to her, was sitting on the emerald, fluffy carpet with little Scorpius across from him. The little blonde boy had a giant smile on his face, vibrating laughter coming out of his mouth, and his silver eyes were twinkling in awe at the direction of his father. Scorpius's stare reminded Hermione of how she looked at her husband, too—with absolute adoration.

"Then what happened?" pressed Draco as he grabbed a small, black shoe beside him and motioned for Scorpius to outstretch his foot.

"The fireworks scared Uncle Blaise's dogs," the boy continued excitedly, a gleam of mischief in his eyes, "and they took off running full speed, Dad. It was brilliant. Uncle Blaise was dragged with them, and since we were in Muggle London, he couldn't use magic to stop them. He went straight into the lake, Dad. He was so angry."

Draco chuckled darkly as he grabbed the other shoe and once again motioned his son to extend his foot to him. "The git deserved it. However, your mother wanted me to reprimand you, just as Alessandro is being reprimanded by Daphne. You know the rules, Scor: no playing with anything from Weasley's shop."

Scorpius frowned. "That's no fun!"

"Of course not. Have you not met your mother?" teased Draco. "But if she asks, tell her I gave you a serious scolding and that I banned you from the telly, playdates, flying your broom, and reading. No, forget the last one. Your mother wouldn't want your brain to turn into mush. Let's just tell her I scared the living daylights out of you and that you learned your lesson."

While Scorpius and Draco shared smirks, fast footsteps and the sound of a tiny bell echoed along the hall behind Hermione. Shortly after, a squeak caused Hermione to maneuver to the side as a little girl rushed into Scorpius's room chasing a golden spaniel.

"Catch the puppy, Daddy!"

Scorpius groaned loudly at the high-pitch laughter of the little girl. "Fay," he snapped, "_get out._"

Four year old Fay Malfoy ignored her brother. Instead she went in circles around Scorpius and her father chasing the pup named Cosmo. Her giggles provoked Cosmo's happy barks, Scorpius annoyance, and Draco's own laughter.

"All right. Come here, Fay." Grabbing the girl mid chase, Draco steadied her before him. The tiny, little girl smiled largely at her father as he straightened her floral dress and the white ribbon on her cascading, blonde waves. Her large silver eyes matched Scorpius's in their reflection of the grand love they had for Draco.

"I told you getting her a dog was a bad idea," said Scorpius sternly, though he was currently holding Cosmo and scratching the dog behind its ears. The affection in his eyes didn't match the annoyance in his voice. "It's like you've gotten her a dragon. She's a menace."

"Am not!" protested Fay.

Scorpius frowned deeper. "This family doesn't need troublemakers, Dad."

"_Correction—_" Stepping into her son's room, now making herself noticed, Hermione put her hands firmly on her hips and narrowed her eyes at the three pairs of silver ones that were now gawking at her with surprise. "This family doesn't need any more troublemakers. Scorpius and Draco Malfoy," her voice got louder, "you're both grounded for a week. You for playing with George's fireworks when I've told you plenty of times to not buy, Scorpius; and you, Draco, for applauding his actions."

Again, Scorpius groaned loudly and dropped his back against the base of his floor. He put his hands over his face and mumbled into it, purposely hiding the curse words he'd learned from his father's friends.

Draco rolled his eyes at his wife and stood from the carpet. He pulled Fay up in the process, pressing a kiss to her rosy cheeks, making her giggle.

"Are you ready, then? We were meant to leave an hour ago."

"You're the one who's late," Draco interjected after his wife. "The kids and I have been waiting for you. Besides, I don't see the bloody point of going. I don't want to."

Hermione walked further into the room to stand across from Draco. She extended her hand out to her son and waited for him to grab it so she could help him up off the floor.

"Fine," added the blonde man, "forget I said anything. But I am warning you, it's going to be a disaster. It always is. I don't know why we agree to go every year."

"It's Pansy's _birthday_," reminded Hermione, "and she's your best friend. That's why we're going."

Draco snorted. "I never attended any of her birthday celebrations until I married you, you know. You conditioned her to expect our presence."

"The kids are excited to go." She smiled down at Scorpius who was now grinning. "James, Albus, and Teddy are back from their month-long holiday with Ginny and Harry. Not to mention I haven't seen all the other Weasleys for a while. It's going to be fun."

"Visit Pansy more often, then," offered Draco. "Her house is littered with them now that she married the Weasel and started having little Weasel babies."

"She's pregnant again, you know. Three months. Ron told me at work yesterday. He's hoping for a boy this time. Not that he doesn't love Rose, but you know how males are."

Draco smirked down at Scorpius and both of them high-fived one another.

"I'm happy for Pansy, I suppose. Not that I'm okay with her bringing more Weasleys into the world. Salazar knows there's enough of them."

"That's the same thing Ron said about the Malfoys after I gave birth to Fay," chided Hermione.

"But we are better than them, Hermione." At the frown taking over his wife's features, Draco lowered Fay back onto her little feet and quickly added, "All right, let's go. If I'm fortunate, there'll be enough liquor left that I can tolerate Weasel for the rest of the afternoon."

Draco smoothed his trousers from any wrinkles they might've gotten from sitting on his son's floor, Scorpius repeated the action. It was a curious thing to see; father and son were like twins. Hermione had seen Draco's childhood photographs, and she and Narcissa were certain that Scorpius was going to be an exact replica of his father when he got older. Hermione just hoped her son was kinder and less likely to look for trouble.

"Thank you, Daddy," said Fay as her father fixed her white ribbon again. "I love you."

"And I love you, sweetheart." Draco extended his hand for his daughter to take.

There was something about the way Fay's little hand disappeared into Draco's that made Hermione tear up. She knew how much her children loved their father, but Fay thought of him as her protector. He was her guardian angel. At just four, Fay was convinced that there was no better man in the world than her father; and no one better to take care of her. Fay often searched for her father's arms, and when asked why, when told she was getting too old to be held, she declared: _'Daddy keeps the monsters away.'_

Noticing the tears falling down his wife's cheeks, Draco took his free hand and cupped the left side of her face. "What is it, love?"

Hermione pressed her cheek further into Draco's warm palm. "You're a wonderful father. It just...It just fills my heart with so much joy to see you with them, Draco. And to see how much they love you. We have a beautiful family, don't we?"

The silver in Draco's gaze softened. "We do. And it's all because of you."

"And we have a great marriage, don't we?"

"We have a _perfect _marriage," he corrected. "You're the woman of my dreams, Hermione. You're the love of my life. Despite you being an insufferable, stubborn know-it-all, I love you forever."

More tears fell past the brunette's lashes. "I love you, too." Just as her husband began to lean in to steal away a kiss, Hermione closed her eyes and murmured, "I'm pregnant."

Draco froze.

Slowly, Hermione opened her eyes and willed herself to look at the blonde man. "Two months. Angelina just confirmed. It's twins."

Awestruck, Draco blinked at his wife with uncertainty. Seconds passed like minutes and silence took over them. He roamed Hermione's face, inspecting her beautiful, warm eyes, her gorgeous features, then he scanned her belly. It was flat, but he thought back to the time when she was pregnant with Scorpius, and then when she was pregnant with Fay—it'd been so long ago. And she was absolutely radiant every time she was.

He remembered the first time he looked into Scorpius's eyes: Draco had been so afraid before, but one look at his son and Draco felt the world finally come alive around him. He felt pureness in his heart. For the first time, he looked at someone with his blood and thought him perfect. Scorpius was the first Malfoy born out of true love, admiration, affection, and forgiveness. And Draco couldn't help himself but to think that his son was perfect.

Then Hermione brought to life his little girl, his Fay. She was so small, so pink, and so warm in his arms. That time had been different. Draco already had two years of fatherhood experience to care for a newborn, but what took over him was a grand sense of protection. It was the daddy's-little-girl syndrome. He vowed to Fay as he cradled her asleep in his arms, Hermione already dreaming on her hospital bed, that he'd keep her safe even if it cost him his life.

Draco found redemption, happiness, light, and love through Hermione and their children. Never in his life did he think he would ever get to feel all of that on a daily basis. Before the rise of Voldemort, Draco imagined a life alike the one his parents led; cold, refined, and drowned in gold. During the time of the Dark Lord, Draco saw his life in nothing but darkness, or worse, buried six feet under ground. But then Hermione came along, with her loud opinions, intelligent mind, and warm eyes, and changed everything. He stole a kiss from her, and in turn he took a hand from fate that would lead him to bliss.

Every day with her, every day with Scorpius and Fay, was Draco's reward.

"We're going to be a bigger family now," muttered Draco, a smile breaking over his lips. "Twins!"

Husband and wife joined together in a blur of embraces and kisses. There were tears everywhere, laughter erupting from their hug, and Scorpius couldn't tell who was more emotional in that moment.

He sighed. "I hope they're boys," the boy said to Fay, "because you're torture enough."

"Am not!" Fay stomped on his foot.

Cosmo the puppy barked joyfully, wagging his golden tail around, as Draco and Hermione turned to their son and daughter to include them in their embrace.

"No! Let go!" protested Scorpius.

"New babies!" cheered Fay.

* * *

_fin._


End file.
